Fall to Ruin
by It's The Krys
Summary: This morning, I began with my usual schedule planned. Now, I find myself running for my life and relying on my greatest enemy for support as the last shreds of humanity fall around me. My only hope now is that we can trust each other enough to survive.
1. In which a schedule goes awry

Well. After a long hiatus, I have finally returned. With a fanfic that has been festering in my brainmeats for a little over a year. It's currently _exactly _half-finished at this point, so with any luck, I'll actually have this thing fully written out soon. Maybe. I intend to finish it no matter what, though. Anyway, it's mostly something I'm writing so as to improve - constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Flames, however, are entirely juvenile, and are greatly NOT appreciated. Kay thanks. Now, then. **Do not be fooled by the tone I use for this chapter** - it's the only one like it so far out of all the ones I've written, and I intend to keep it that way for the most part. SO! Moving on! What are you waiting for - ignore my blabbering and get to reading!

Warnings: Death/gore, somewhat dark humor, some occasional and only slight cursing.

Last blabberings:

**This is not - repeat, NOT - ZADR. **Although I do enjoy the pairing, this fic is meant to take canon seriously (for the most part).At the most, there will be shaky amity.

**DO NOT be fooled by the tone in this chapter. **Seriously. Don't be. Most of the rest of the story is humor - honest.**  
**

* * *

**Chapter One - In which a schedule goes awry**

Saturday morning - a typical schedule planned, as always. It had been the same for the past few years since the Irken invader had arrived. Yawning, Dib plucked a couple of cans from the grocer shelf, too tired to really care if it was the usual brand.

Glance around for Gaz - absent, of course. Probably in the electronics aisle, letting him do the work. Fair enough, he decided, as she was the one who had to drive him everywhere; Professor Membrane didn't trust him behind the wheel. Too crazy, he said.

With a slight frown, the teen noted the absence of his shopping basket and rolled his eyes - honestly, if someone else really needed one, they could've just gone up to the front to get their own rather than taking his.

At least it had been empty; he wouldn't need to go back for anything.

With a quick brush of his free hand through his hair (which had developed a prominent zigzag shape similar to his father's over time), Dib gave a little sigh and tucked the cans under his arm, making his way past equally tired and grumpy-looking shoppers, shoddily-placed pyramids of merchandise seemingly aimed to trip said shoppers, and large bargain posters spouting such ridiculous epithets as 'Buy fifty of McYuseless Brand Chunks and you might get a FREE LLAMA!', all to get to the store's front where the baskets were heaped in messy little stacks.

Taking one by the handle, he gave it a rough tug, only to find that - of course - it was thoroughly stuck to the basket beneath. It tended to happen a lot. Dib frowned as another shopper passed by, effortlessly pulling a basket from a pile as she went. Correction: it tended to happen to _Dib _a lot. Sighing again, he began to shuffle around for an unmanned basket near the piles before he caught something odd out of the corner of his eye.

Backing up and squinting a bit through the store's windows, which were covered in neon spray depicting the many bargains one could find inside, the teen tilted his head, trying to decipher exactly what the something was. A passing shopper, having gathered and paid for all their necessities, tossed their now-empty basket at Dib, the plastic object bouncing rather painfully off his only slightly large head and drawing a loud expletive from the boy.

The shopper didn't seem to notice, even as Dib glared after them and rubbed at the sore spot; the teen's attention was quickly diverted, however, as the automatic doors slid open and the something was revealed.

Glass and mortar blasted everywhere as a thick mechanical arm slammed the remnants of a van through the store's entrance, the exiting shopper being reduced to nothing more than a smear of blood and bone against the floor; a strangled gasp escaped Dib as he scrambled backwards and ducked behind a cashier counter, just barely avoiding being crushed by the vehicle and the accompanying debris.

An unearthly shriek reverberated throughout the area, the dark-haired boy grimacing and covering his ears as he stumbled to his feet, darting for the electronics aisle to find Gaz. The cuts and bruises from what _had _hit him barely registered in his mind as adrenaline took effect, urging him on and away from the deadly mech, which emitted another ear-splitting shriek and tore away what remained of the entrance hall.

Dib vaguely caught the scents of blood and smoke as he ran, shoes thudding against tile, screams of early morning shoppers, heartbeat pounding in his ears, the shrill cacophony of alarms; something - no, the van - had exploded, gas tank bursting and catching fire on impact. He blocked it all out the best he could, he had to focus, had to save his sister - the _sane _sibling - and only one other thought rang clear in his mind.

_It can't be Zim. It can't be Zim._

He felt suddenly ill, vision blurring further (he vaguely realized one lens was cracked) and lungs aching as the teen fought to draw breath; a panicked, screaming mother straining to keep her children at her side forced her way past Dib, sending him off-balance and tumbling face-first into a display case. Groaning, he held a hand to his forehead, eyes wide when it came away bloody - _this isn't my blood_, he realized with icy horror. Shadows passed over him, heavy mechanical footsteps plodding along before pausing just for a moment; the mother's cries strangely silenced.

The teen froze instinctively, braving the slightest glance back and choking back a terrified whimper. The gore-splattered mech, much smaller than its initial counterpart, appeared not to notice him and continued on, joining another as it went and sliding easily after the children - _Why wasn't he doing anything?! He had to stop cowering, had to help, had to stop this! _- before a metal appendage swerved up to- Dib clenched his eyes shut and turned his head away, forcing back bile as yet more screams were stifled.

_There was nothing he could do, was there? No preparation, no warning - some savior of Earth _he _was._

For just a split second, he thought he heard a familiar shout, sitting up sharply only to whack his head against the display case's top. Gaz - where was she? - was she okay? She _had _to be okay, she was _Gaz_. Despite this thought, a cold emptiness settled in Dib's belly; he couldn't be sure, he had to _see_, had to _know _she was safe. And so he steeled himself, cracked open one eye-

A mech stood over him, its metal and blood coatings gleaming in the fluorescent lighting. And for one brief moment, Dib caught a glance of the creature within. Terror gripped him once more, and he bit back a scream, knuckles white as he clutched at the metal frame of the display case concealing him.

_These aren't Irkens._

Darkness surrounded the teen, merchandise dropping and shattering around him as the mech shoved the nearest shelf over; it caught on a neighboring shelf before it could fully slam down on the display case - the second shelf teetered somewhat...and _held_. Dib clutched his knees against his chest, hiding his face and simply hoping to any higher power in existence that it would _keep _holding, not even daring a glance up in fear of finding that the shelf was slipping, that the metal frame of the case offering him so little protection would slowly be giving way to leave him to be crushed.

Instead, Dib simply curled further in on himself, rocking back and forth just slightly as he tried and failed to calm. The adrenaline had fled from his system, leaving him exhausted and vulnerable - he couldn't escape from the mech currently situated not three feet from his 'safe' spot.

Silence; or what would have been silence had it not been for the last lingering screams of morning shoppers, the fire slowly making its way through the structure, the ceaseless harsh note of the alarms, and the heavy plodding of mechanical limbs. Then, with agonizing slowness, the nearest mech edged away, the creature inside distracted - probably by the few other shoppers who had managed to survive. Slowly, slowly, the metallic footsteps faded to join the others in the distance.

Dib lifted his gaze ever so slightly, blearily staring past the piles of merchandise that had dropped from the shelf above him. He didn't linger on the unsettling red liquid smeared across the tile - he simply listened, lifting one arm to wipe at cuts and scratches with a torn trenchcoat sleeve. Perhaps he would survive - the fire was small, slow, and the mechs would certainly be done with this place soon, though he didn't dwell on the reasons why.

Yes; he could survive. There was plenty here he could salvage once the alien mechs had retreated. He would find Gaz, as there was no plausible way she was... Dib shivered a bit, shrinking back further into his hiding place. She had to be alive...she just _had _to be.

He _would _survive, he decided, even as exhaustion took its toll and his eyelids slowly began to droop. Just as he drifted off, a stray thought - maddeningly positive - wormed its way into the boy's mind.

_They all know now - whoever is left. This proves you aren't crazy. They all know._

And as the fire spread, humanity falling around him, Dib slipped into darkness with an almost peaceful smile.

_He would survive._

* * *

Next chapter will be up in just a moment. After chapters two and three, I will somewhat attempt a weekly schedule until I run out of complete chapters to post. Considering how many chapters I have done, though, I'm not sure if I'll even have to worry about it.

And don't worry - my usual brand of humor will return in the next chapter and those following.


	2. In which aliens seem to laugh

Nothing to say here - let the chapter begin!

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**Chapter Two - In which aliens seem to laugh**

The city was nearly leveled.

The skyscrapers which had once graced an oddly apocalyptic (and now, ironically fitting) crimson sky had been pulled down in mere moments by the invading force's immense sentinel mechs.

Many of the neighborhoods in the city's center had been flattened simply from the steps taken by these metal monstrosities.

The outer cul-de-sacs were patrolled by warrior droids – smaller, only a few times the size of the average human, but just as deadly as their infinitely larger counterparts – which gunned down any Earth-creature it might encounter, tearing apart what buildings were sensed to house life and not bothering with those which were empty. Such buildings could be destroyed later and with less effort during the final sweep.

Two such warrior droids (or rather, the creatures controlling them) making rounds in the outskirts were granted a surprise encounter, however.

The first creature examined the odd house before them with slight trepidation. "It can't be possible."

"I do believe it is, my friend; the technological signal matches perfectly," the other responded, eying the tall structure with much more interest. "There is an Irken – an Irken _Invader_, if my guess is correct – housed here." It gave a curious-sounding thrum, one long, dual-armed appendage slinking up so as to tap the tentacle-like fingers of one hand at a ridged chin, suction pads at the ends of the digits making small popping noises at the motion (meanwhile, the other hand scratched idly at an itch). The other dual-arm maintained its position curled around the controls as the alien continued. "Actually…the higher-ups may have mentioned it somewhere; might be why we're here on this-" It paused to rove four beady eyes across a ruined horizon, the orbs rolling slightly in what might have been an exasperated gesture. "-otherwise useless planet."

"Useless as this dirtball is, how upset the creature must be - to know our kind have bested it," the first gurgled gleefully; it seemed to be trying to do something akin to laughing, though its biology simply wouldn't allow such an action. The companion understood well its mirth, however, and gurgled in kind.

For a moment, the two merely scrutinized the bizarre green house – one which bore little resemblance to the Earthen-made structures surrounding it – with an amused air before the first spoke up once more, the gurgling tone of its voice suggesting it was trying not to break into its race's equivalent of laughter. "I shall inform a Sentinel."

* * *

Shorter than my usual, but I like it anyway. Chapter three will be up in a moment. After this, chapters will be updated as close to weekly as my schedule will allow.

The invading aliens in this fic were originally meant to show up here, and then only be mentioned in passing. They've evolved quite a bit since this chapter, though, and I liked them enough to keep on including them - they're twisted little guys now (little is a incredibly huge overstatement, however - ha, get it? _Huge_? ...Yeah. Bad jokes. Sorry. Anyway, these guys aren't actually little. Like...at all.)


	3. In which no notable tactic is employed

And the 'hero' makes his entrance!

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**Chapter Three - In which no notable tactic is employed**

Saturday morning - a typical schedule planned, as always. It had been the same for the past few years since the Irken had landed on this pathetic dirt-ball. Scowling down at the tangled shards of some useless plaything his SIR unit had brought home and left in the way of a lab exit, Zim kicked the offending item aside and made his way to the fridge. He then snatched a thoroughly unhealthy snack from it and gnawed at it irritably, meandering slowly about the house level as he did.

The SIR unit in question was, of course, absent. Probably out dancing, or eating tacos, or other such moronic things the Invader didn't care about. Or perhaps he was up in the 'attic', chewing at the wires again. Now _that _was something Zim would care about.

Nevertheless, the lack of a maddening robot had the alien calming somewhat - after constant failures and frustration over his current project, a bit of peace and quiet was a blessing. But, as usual, the Earth wasn't going to conquer itself. Letting out a grating sigh, Zim finished his snack and headed back down into the labs, and as he stepped out from the elevator, shot a dark glare at the freakishly mutated onion which had utterly and miserably _failed _to produce the planet-shattering destruction he so desired from its smelly form.

After a moment of simply glaring at the once-edible monstrosity, as though it had personally insulted him, the Irken shoved it away, simply - and with no pun intended - fed up with it. He then spent the next few moments just sulking, continuing to glare at nothing in particular, and quite clearly preparing to go off on one of his usual 'destruction and doom and I AM _ZIM_' kind of rants.

Rather than ranting, however, he assumed a somewhat quizzical expression and wondered just what all that rumbling was up around the surface (or so he hoped it was on the surface - if it was any portion of his base, he'd have to yell at GIR for chewing on the wires again, and though he really _did _enjoy yelling, it often got a bit tiresome, seeing as the little robot forced him to do it a lot more than was really necessary).

Fortunately for the tiny Irken, his question was answered rather quickly, and even more fortunately, it didn't have anything to do with GIR chewing on wires. Of course, with good news, there's usually bad news to go along with it, especially when mysterious and almost explosion-like rumblings are taken into consideration.

**Incoming transmission or...something**, the computer drawled blandly, and had it been capable of giving an exasperated sigh or eye-roll, it most likely would have done either (or even both) as it continued, **Should I patch them through, Master?**

Antennae perked up, and Zim scooted over to the main terminal. "Is it the Tallests?" he asked excitedly, glee tossing logic out the window in the usual Zim-fashion; had it been the Tallests, the computer would have mentioned so, and the Tallests never called, anyway.

**Er...no, but...** the computer replied almost hesitantly before it was quite swiftly interrupted by its master, who clearly hadn't been listening.

"Well, what are you waiting for, put them through! _Do it now_!" the Invader screeched, adding on in a strangely giddy lilting tone, "Mustn't keep the Tallests waiting!"

Had it been able, the computer most likely would have grimaced. Instead, it gave a very small measure of silence, which it had finely calculated down to the millionth decimal point to show an almost impeccable amount of disdain without actually sparking anyone's (specifically Zim's) ire. It then responded, with a tone that was quite near being weary without actually being so, **Very _well_, Master...**

The terminal's screen lit up with static for a moment as the connection was processed, Zim grinning widely and preparing to greet his leaders with an impeccable salute and proof of his newest plan to ensure the human race's _doom_. He didn't actually _have _a new plan, considering how much of an utter failure the onion mutation had been, but his Tallests didn't _really _need to know that. He'd have the onion thing figured out eventually, anyway (he _was _Zim, after all). The grin promptly faded when the static vanished and was replaced with a visage that was clearly not either of his Tallests, and was quite clearly not even Irken.

"What is this?!" Zim exclaimed, somewhat offended and definitely repulsed - the creature staring back at him was positively _hideous_! "You're not my Tallests! How _dare _you trick my computer into thinking so!"

**But - I _told _you it wasn't them.**

"SILENCE!" the Irken shrieked in reply, not even paying attention to whatever it was the computer had said. He then jabbed a finger towards the alien on-screen. "And YOU!" he began, eyes narrowing and the hand not occupied with pointing curling into a fist, "Just who are you?!"

The creature, who had been watching Zim's antics with an almost amused expression, rumbled slightly - a possible equivalent of throat-clearing - before grating out, "Sergeant Vxxethasylcb, and I'm here to-"

Zim was quick to interrupt. "Vxxethasylcb?" he repeated incredulously (gaining a wince when he quite splendidly mispronounced it). "Wow, how do you even _spell _that?" There was a small pause, in which the other alien blinked all four eyes before pulling a rather strange face.

"I...don't know, really," Vxxethasylcb admitted. "Anyway, I'm here to inform you that-"

Once again, Zim interrupted. "So what are you doing here?"

There was another pause before the alien gave a harsh exhale of air that almost sounded like - but completely differed from - an exasperated sigh. "To make things simple, we - that is, the Krakemeth race - have destroyed most, if not all, of the Earthenoids taking residence here."

"Oh," the Irken replied blankly, the hand he'd been pointing at the alien with such fervor dropping back down to his side. Silence followed, in which the alien waited expectantly and Zim scratched at a particularly stubborn itch on his rear. Then, something clicked, and he quickly backtracked over the other's words. "Wait, WHAT?!"

"Yes, lovely, isn't it?" the so-called 'Krakemeth' gurgled cheerfully in response. "And that's not the best part, either!"

Zim wasn't so sure he wanted to know - in fact, now he was more concerned with whether or not he'd be able to convince the Tallests that it was him and not this...Krake-whatever race that had brought about the end of humanity. Despite this, he forced down his uneasiness, glaring metaphorical daggers as he snarled, "How _dare _you! I was here first - wiping out the humans was _my _job! What makes you think you can just waltz in and steal my victory - ZIM'S victory?!"

The Krakemeth's dual-arms wavered about in what was almost-clearly a shrug. "Our race has no agreement with yours over invasion territories; we do what we want. And when we're asked to do things we want, that's even better." This last bit had an antennae quirking curiously, though Zim wasn't able to get in even so much as a thought before Vxxethasylcb continued speaking. "Moving on, though, you never asked what the best part of it all was." Its tone took on a strange gurgling that the Invader couldn't decipher the meaning of. "Come on, trust me, you'll want to hear it - it's _really _great!"

This was met with silence as the Irken continued to glare, claws twitching in a manner that suggested he'd like to curl them around what he assumed was the creature's neck - yes, he thought, this thing deserved to be strangled. _His mission..._ Growling lightly after a moment, he questioned icily, "So what's the best part?"

The creature emitted yet more gurgling, unable to say anything for a moment - Zim realized then that it was laughing, and at _him _no less, which only grated on his nerves further.

"_Well_?!" he snapped, sick of this disgusting alien's behavior. "What _is it_?"

"Ah, yes!" Vxxethasylcb chirped in what could have been a vaguely embarrassed manner before it gave another tiny gurgle. "The _best part_," it began, gurgles ceasing and its tone taking on a clearly pleasant lilt, "The _best part _is that now that we've finished annihilating the 'humans', as you call them, we're going to have a bit of fun." The alien paused for a small gurgle-laugh before finishing gleefully. "Because now we're going to kill _you_."

There was a slight pause, in which the statement sank in with surprising quickness. "_WHAT_?!" Zim wasn't able to screech before he was phased from where he stood. The word caught in his throat as his molecular structure was disassembled, moved through the labyrinth of his base and several layers of rock, and was reassembled rather hastily on the street just outside his freakish house. Upon being plunked down on the asphalt, the loud '_WHAT_?!' chose then to dislodge itself from Zim's throat, leaving the Irken feeling rather silly when he realized he'd shouted it at a ruined - and thus empty - neighborhood.

A quick and quite nearly blinding flash of light, followed by an immense rumbling from behind, prompted Zim to turn on his heel, an action which very nearly threw him off-balance; eyes widened and trailed upward to settle on the round chrome cockpit of an enormous battle mech before lowering back down to where his base stood - or rather, used to stand. Nervousness (but not fear, the Irken assured himself, as fear was a weakness, and he was _not _weak) settled in the very bottoms of his 'spooch, and he averted his eyes from the massive crater where his base had been, gaze once again settling on the mech.

If he squinted, he could just make out the form of the Krakemeth inside - by the way it was waving both hands of a dual-arm at him and grinning pleasantly (or so he assumed), it was most likely Vxxethasylcb. Of course, seeing as they apparently all meant to kill him, a Krakemeth he only vaguely knew really wasn't any better than a Krakemeth he _didn't _know.

The mech lowered and leaned forward, two thick appendages on its sides crunching against the asphalt on either side of Zim and keeping it propped up as the three appendages below began to splay themselves out in accordance to the loss in height. Once the cockpit was as even as possible with the Irken below, the covershield raised to allow Vxxethasylcb to communicate without blasting Zim's auditory senses to uselessness - a rather futile gesture of courtesy, all things considered.

"Try to fight back before I crush you, will you?" Vxxethasylcb began conversationally, that maddeningly pleasant tone still present. "It won't be any fun otherwise. So make it interesting for the onlookers, you know?" It waved a dual-arm almost dismissively behind it, where Zim could make out groups of smaller droids - only a few times his own size - gathering together.

"Wha..." The Irken backed up a bit, looking around with an almost hopelessly lost expression. He'd been expecting them to try to kill him, of course, but not by turning it into some kind of amusing spectacle like _this _- this was just _barbaric_. Of course, his own race indulged in such entertainment every once in a while as well, but...that was different matter altogether. His gaze returned to Vxxethasylcb, unnerved confusion clear, and the Krakemeth gave a little grumble and a swivel of its smaller eyes; yet another gesture Zim couldn't determine what for, and he didn't really want to in the first place.

"As much as I'll enjoy this, I can't say I'd like to be in your place right now," Vxxethasylcb grumbled lowly, giving a small shrug. "You seem like an okay little thing, but all I can really say is...for your sake...I hope you're good at running."

Antennae flattened as the cockpit's covershield snapped shut once more, the mech rising to its full height to tower over the tiny Irken. It gave an ear-splitting mechanical shriek, which the smaller droids responded to with a variety of flat mechanized notes which failed to harmonize in the least, resulting in a cacophony of utter _noise _that had Zim reeling and clutching his antennae to his head in an attempt to block all of it out. Over the din, Vxxethasylcb's voice, magnified and infinitely more painful to listen to, issued from the battle mech.

**"LET US BEGIN!"**

* * *

Vxxethasylcb's name is pronounced 'Ze-thuh-sill-sib' (the 'V' is silent). It (he?) probably won't show up again, but I'm sure at least one person was wondering how the heck to pronounce the name. Heck, when I first wrote it down (via poking random keys and removing letters until it looked cool), I hadn't a clue how to say it either. XD

Chapter four will be up in about a week or so, depending on my schedule.


	4. In which an Invader runs screaming

_Surprise_! Early chapter! (I suppose this is a really weak way of making up for a lack of any April Fool's joke on my part. I couldn't be bothered to write a joke fic, anyway.)

Well, to say the least, I was pleasantly surprised at the feedback I got - many thanks to those who took time out of their day to both read and leave comments just to make me feel better about myself. XD Hopefully I will continue to not disappoint so my ego can be further inflated! (Of course, to avoid my becoming an obnoxious prat, feel free to leave constructive criticism - that's right, show my spelling, grammar, and overall writing what's what, and keep my head from overly filling with hot air!)

And now it's time to watch Zim make an ass of himself. What fun we shall have!

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**Chapter Four - In which an Invader runs screaming**

It was an accepted fact that Irkens were generally good problem-solvers; when presented with a situation, they could easily come up with a (usually decent) solution that quite often ended up just being off the top of their head. It was no different with life-threatening situations; the PAK kept them level-headed (for the most part) and able to think clearly enough to enable them to escape mostly, sometimes completely, unscathed.

It was an accepted fact among Irkens themselves that Zim was generally _not_ a good problem-solver; when presented with a situation, he'd often simply cause things to blow up in one way or another until he considered the problem 'solved' and called it a 'job well done', no matter whether he was supposed to blow everything up or not (and _especially_ no matter if what he blew up was of any sort of importance).

Strangely enough, this seemed to work for Zim, and though it did tend to land him in an awful lot of trouble more often than not, he hadn't lost any limbs, had his PAK irreparably damaged, and he most _certainly_ hadn't died yet, so one would have to assume that while his idea of problem-solving was indeed different and caused a great deal of property damage, it was still helpful in the long run.

Whether or not this was a good thing remained to be seen, because unfortunately, the current situation (one that was most _definitely _life-threatening) had Zim at a bit of a loss. Here he was, at the mercy of an enormous battle mech, something that could – and _would _– flatten him in an instant if he made so much as a single wrong move…and he had _nothing_ with which to blow it up!

Rather unfair, in his opinion.

Irkens, however, also had a keen (and admittedly somewhat strange) sense of self-preservation. While they'd certainly risk life and limb to serve their beloved Tallests (and the Empire as a whole) – and without so much as a second thought, no less – when forced into a dangerous situation that _didn't_ have anything to do with their Empire, they'd go to impressive lengths to stay alive.

In this respect, Zim was really no different than any other Irken; despite the shame of having an inferior race succeed where he had failed, he hadn't really planned on dying today, so he _really_ didn't intend to. And since matters honestly couldn't get much worse, he resorted to what most self-respecting Irkens would consider an entirely unspeakable method of self-preservation.

He turned and ran.

He screamed in terror, too, but that was understandable – most Irkens, and most members of any _other _race for that matter, would have done the same had they been in his situation.

It was around the time when one of the mech's side appendages nearly swatted him off his feet (it flattened a nearby house instead) that Zim remembered a useful tool of his own. He then promptly took to his much sturdier PAK-legs, skittering hastily over rubble and debris with ease and a sense of balance and grace that he generally didn't have when on foot.

Shooting a glance over his shoulder, the Irken noted with some aggravation that he hadn't – as he'd hoped – put any sort of distance between himself and the mech. He also noted, with quite a lot of aggravation, that there was a rather large cannon aimed at him and charging with alarming quickness.

Now that was _definitely_ unfair.

Eyes narrowing, Zim continued forward and waited for the mech to fire, planning to dart to the side in order to avoid the shot. Sadly, his spider-legs seemed to have had a completely differing idea, as one caught in the rubble below and sent him tumbling into a couple of painful rolls. While he _did_ manage to avoid being vaporized in an excruciating fashion, he ended up on his back, somewhat dizzy, and with his PAK legs splayed uselessly in varying directions (to be blunt, he looked a bit silly).

The gurgle-laugh the Irken had come to hate emitted from the mech as it approached, and at _just_ the right pitch to further infuriate him. To make up for at least a portion of the whole mess, Zim's PAK kindly informed him exactly just what the heck his spider-legs were doing and where they were so he could give them a sharp mental reprimand – something along the lines of 'straighten up, stop fooling around, and _destroy this stupid mech before it destroys ZIM_!'

Suffice to say, Vxxethasylcb was particularly surprised when he found his mech on the receiving end of near-deadly lasers.

Badly aimed near-deadly lasers, but near-deadly lasers nonetheless.

Zim cursed to himself as he scrambled to his feet with the assistance of three of his PAK legs (the fourth was still somewhat preoccupied with blasting off laser-fire), only narrowly avoiding being flattened when his much more appropriately equipped opponent decided he'd had quite enough of the vaguely dangerous light-show and attempted to stomp on him.

It was at this point that the Irken grudgingly wished he'd paid a bit more attention during certain portions of his past training, as it might have helped with his aim just a bit. On the other hand, there could've been more drills based on the possibility of facing a giant mech while mostly unarmed. There had only been one, so far as Zim could remember, and the only thing their superiors had bothered to mention was that it probably wouldn't happen, and even if it did, then surely a bit of laser-fire from one's PAK legs could bring it down.

An overall useless lesson, in his opinion.

Darting out from beneath a thick metal appendage – unsurprisingly aiming to crush him – Zim gave one last attempt at blasting the mech before giving it up as a lost cause, cursing his terrible aim, and once again going with Plan A: running like mad. A loud groan emitted from the attacking mech as it moved to follow, though whether it came from the gears themselves or the Krakemeth within (who was most likely thoroughly exasperated that Zim hadn't been squished into a gooey pulp yet) was unclear.

Just as exasperated as Vxxethasylcb might have been, though for an entirely different reason, Zim glared over his shoulder as his spider-legs carried him forward, shrieking a choice phrase ("Oh, _come on_!") as the mech continued after him. On a sudden whim, the Irken skirted to the side, scrambling over a chunk of twisted metal that might have been a gate at one point in time and short-cutting through several backyards – many of the walls separating them had been crushed to pieces, and the ones that hadn't were easily scaled.

Not expecting the prey to change tactics (though admittedly, said prey hadn't shown much of a tactic initially aside from _attempting_ to run and _attempting_ to return fire), the Krakemeth's mech paused before turning slowly, almost painfully so – it was something Zim didn't fail to note when he shot back another glare. Instead of continuing to run, he dove out of sight, pressing himself up against the rear wall of a partly-destroyed human residence and catching his breath, eyes roving slowly over the backyard's expanse and coming to rest on a colorful globe lawn ornament – pretty, fragile, made of glass, and _reflective_.

The mech wasn't moving.

Silently, Zim watched the mech's reflection on the glass orb, swallowing thickly as it turned this way and that ever-so-slowly in search of its quarry. When it finally came to a stop, facing his hiding place, the Irken fidgeted nervously and began inching towards the house's back door, further put on edge as the mech took a rumbling step in his direction.

Preferring to find out if the house he'd chosen to hide behind had any safer areas inside, rather than simply standing outside uselessly and watching as the death-machine got closer and closer, Zim darted for the open door.

He found himself sprawled on his PAK moments later, face and back aching as the Irken tried to figure out what had hit him. It certainly hadn't been anything from the mech, though that particular problem _was_ getting closer. Spider-legs propping him up as he rubbed at his injured forehead, Zim stared critically at what he had supposed to be an open door, which was, in fact, just a very clean - and very sturdy - _glass_ door.

In his defense, it had looked a lot less reflective from the previous angle.

Now thoroughly aggravated at his increasingly bad luck, Zim splayed out his spider-legs, just about to cut through the door when something at the side of the house caught his eye, a wonderfully lucky something that, like the glass door, he hadn't been able to see from the previous angle.

The PAK legs retreated after pushing the Irken back onto his feet, and while the jarring steps of the mech grew ever closer, Zim leaned to pull open the heavy wooden door of the house's cellar, slipping inside and almost falling down the small flight of stairs that he admittedly should have anticipated. As he picked himself up from the middle stair he'd landed quite painfully on and situated himself on the bottom step, an entirely unintentional shudder coursed through him slowly from the tips of his antennae to the ends of his toes, something that had an icy weight settling at the very bottoms of his squeedilyspooch when he figured out exactly _why _the sensation was so familiar.

The mech had _bioscanners_.

He had only the presence of mind to cover his head before a thick appendage slammed its way through the house above, a portion of the cellar caving in immediately – human structures; so _weak_, Zim thought before realizing he still _was_ thinking and subsequently realizing that the mech had _missed_.

In any other situation, he might have laughed. However, in this situation, there was a deadly mech situated directly above his hiding spot, and if the slow shuddering in his antennae was any indication, it was about to ensure whether or not its prey needed any more smashing.

Personally, Zim preferred the 'not' option.

Had any other alien been in his situation, they would have been – in the most blunt of terms – completely screwed. Fortunately for Zim, he wasn't any other alien, but was instead Irken (a fact he'd always been extremely proud of), and like any other Irken during a potentially (or in this case, definitely) dangerous bioscan, he gave a quick mental signal to his PAK, which promptly shut itself off.

_…_

_Initiating temporary shutdown._

_Backing data drives__…__ Data drives successfully backed._

_Systems locking__… __Systems successfully locked._

_Shutdown in three…_

_Two__…_

_…_

Zim slumped as the PAK's systems abruptly ceased, eyes dulling and taking on a lifeless glaze – muscles twitched ever-so-slightly as the bioscan continued, finding nothing but an Irken body shell, useless without its controlling PAK, and what remained of the building's previous residents.

Satisfied with its results, the mech retreated, sounding its eerie computerized shriek as it went, flat and unharmonious notes echoing in reply.

* * *

Oh my! Whatever shall happen next? ...Actually, it's probably kind of obvious what's going to happen next. ...Er...stay tuned for the next chapter! ...In a week or so!


	5. In which Zim assures himself otherwise

THERE ARE NO HINTS OF ZADR IN THIS CHAPTER. SHUT UP. THIS IS NOT A ZADR FANFIC. Yes, I love ZADR, but this is not a ZADR fanfiction. ...SHUT UP.

Anyway, thanks for all your generous reviews! They make me feel squishy inside. ...Well, I'm already squishy inside, but...you know what I mean. In response to one reviewer in particular; The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (and Douglas Adams himself) has, incidentally, been a great influence to me - and not just in writing, either. I'm pretty sure that book had _something _to do with my derisive mannerisms toward society.

...You guys need to know this and everything.

No, seriously. You'll be quizzed on this.

Meanwhile, for those worrying over Dib and Gaz...your questions will be answered around...Chapter Eight or so. (Krys dodges bricks, tomatoes, and various other potentially painful objects.)

* * *

**Chapter Five - In which Zim assures himself otherwise**

_…_

_Scanning…_

_…_

_Threat – Krakemeth Sentinel Mech Class 5-37 – has retreated; no other possible threats – similar Sentinel Mechs (Classes 1-01 through 20-00) and Warrior Droids (Classes AA-00 through ZED-97) – have been detected in the vicinity. Beginning reactivation sequence._

_……Reactivation unsuccessful. Host in need of repair. Initiating recovery…_

_…_

**_NANITE ALERT_**_: recovery scan complete – necessary repairs minor – slight charge may be required - issue through ports 71 and 94b to begin maintenance._

_………_

_Recovery complete._

_Charging…_

_…_

_…__…_

**_REACTIVATING. _**

The PAK came to life with a blinding surge, forcing electricity through its body shell, which gave a series of erratic jerks before jolting upright.

Gasping loudly, sweet dust-filled air poured into Zim's respiratory systems; he spent the next few moments coughing helplessly and trying to hack up the dust he'd unintentionally inhaled. It was during these few moments that his data drives kicked back in, and once they did, they were quick to give him a kind reminder that the area he'd shut down in had been mostly destroyed and was therefore a tad dusty, so he might not want to breathe too deeply.

As the cough-fit abated, irritation and shame at his predicament set in – the latter emotion, one of many that Irkens considered as weak, had the PAK going into overdrive to 'correct' it with a concentrated flow of endorphins to the natural brain, as well as having the data drives bring up a past memory file in case the endorphins weren't entirely effective.

The 'overall useless' lesson revolving around what to do when facing a death-mech unarmed, Zim noted blandly, before the memory file got to a certain question a peer of his (Skoodge - the short, fat, and somewhat ugly Irken all the other students had expected to flunk out and be forever demoted to dookie-scrubber drone) had posed to their superiors.

"So…what do we do if we don't even have our PAK weapons?" Skoodge had asked.

The superiors had then looked amongst each other for a while, antennae quirked and expressions lost, before one turned back, shrugged, and replied helplessly, "I guess at that point, the only thing you can really do is run screaming."

Ah! That was all right, then! Though, that didn't excuse the fact that these…Krake-whatevers had beaten him to the annihilation of the human race… The PAK didn't seem to have an answer for this problem, and though the knowledge that his running (and screaming) had been okayed by past superiors was relieving, even a bit uplifting, the fact that Zim's mission had been ruined had his mood swirling into an all-time low.

At least, until his logic centers kicked in.

This was yet another area in which Zim differed from other Irkens – most would have accepted and admitted their failure, and would subsequently accept the punishment for their failure. This was because their logic centers didn't bother kicking in when they had failed to an utterly unsalvageable level.

Zim's logic centers, on the other hand, _did_ kick in, and they did so to tell him that the Tallests didn't really _have_ to know that he hadn't _actually_ been the one to destroy the human race. Sure, they'd wonder exactly _how_ he'd done it, and why his base had been destroyed in the process, but they'd certainly be thrilled either way and honor him as the all-incredible and mighty Invader he truly was.

Yyyyep, there was no doubt about that. (Well, to be truthful there _was_ – and a good lot of it – but Zim was quite keen on squishing those nagging bits of doubt into some dark and scary corner of his deranged mind in favor of looking forward to prospective Tallests-praise.)

Having shoved his doubt into a terrifying mental time-out, now all he had to do was figure out a way to get back into contact with his leaders. As Zim pondered over this particular problem, chin in hand and elbow on knee, he glanced about the caved-in structure idly – he nearly jumped out of his skin in shock when his gaze met vacant, unstaring eyes.

The remains of a human lay partially buried amongst the rubble, splattered with crimson and other things Zim didn't care to think about, expression void and unblinking, mouth still hanging open limply in a soundless scream that had been violently silenced just a short time earlier. He scrambled back, antennae flattened and eyes wide, too frazzled to even give a horrified shriek – all that came out was a pitiful squeak as he put as much distance as he possibly could between the corpse and himself.

As he averted his eyes from the mess and pointedly ignored its very existence, a rush of disgust and anger replaced the initial shock – how _dare_ these creatures destroy what was _his_! This planet and the humans on it – all _his_, _he_ should have been the one to-! Zim pushed himself to his feet, determined to enact swift vengeance on this Krakemeth race for such a transgression, motivation bringing a plan bubbling to the surface – it was insane, it was suicidal, but at this point, he didn't care. No matter the cost, he was going to _annihilate_ them.

They had stolen his _mission_. This pathetic, inferior enemy had… No, not enemy. They weren't even _worthy_ of the title. A mere _annoyance_, that was all they were - they could _never _be a true enemy, a true challenge, for an Irken so impressive as himself. Only the _Dib_-human, who had so impressively foiled him at nearly every turn, had ever become worthy of that designation in Zim's mind, but he had most likely-

The motivation and anger abruptly swirled down the drain; the Irken froze, horrified and struck with a feeling akin to nervousness that he couldn't quite identify.

The _Dib_.

There was no way the dirt-child could have been so easily dispatched, not by such a pitiful race. This was the kind of thing the boy had spent his whole life _preparing_ for! There was just no way…was there?

He had to see for himself, Zim decided then. Surely, satisfying his morbid curiosity wouldn't take too long, and anyway, it would keep the thought from nagging at him as he tried to concentrate on exacting his revenge on these new aliens. If the Dib was truly gone, then the other race had all the more to fear from the Irken – _he_ was the only one who had the right to end that particular meat-slug's life, and the converse was equally true (though Zim had always been certain that his enemy could never gather the courage to _actually_ kill him). Anything different was just…wrong.

If the human boy was still alive… What was he to do then? Well, to be sure, the Dib-stink would want to get back at the race who had annihilated his kind and brought the ongoing battle between the Irken and human races to a screeching halt…

"I've GOT IT!" Zim screeched gleefully, turning on his heel to run up the stairs and ending up tripping over a pile of rubble. He jumped back up and continued on as though it hadn't happened, however, rambling to himself excitedly as he went. "I'll find the Dib, and if he is alive – WHICH HE _WILL_ BE – I will allow him to join the amazing ZIM in defeating these pitiful Krakewhatsits! Delicious _vengeance_, that'll be! And once they've all been felled, I will DESTROY the Dib! It's _perfect_! Absolutely _ingenious_! _INGENIOUS_!"

He began cackling in devious joy, which only resulted in his inhaling a rather unhealthy amount of dust and having to hack it back up via several minutes of coughing and spluttering. It wasn't a very pretty sight.

With one last cough and a clearing of his throat, Zim heaved open the cellar door – it was a feat that took all of his strength (and the help of his spider-legs) to achieve, seeing as a good portion of the nearby wall had ended up on top of it. Indeed, it was only due to a miracle that he'd managed to survive thus far.

Or, more accurately, it was due to several _consecutive _miracles that he'd managed to survive thus far.

It was an idea that Zim didn't bother dwelling on, rather, he scratched at his head and wondered exactly where his human enemy could be on such an apocalyptic morning. Meanwhile, a tiny portion of Zim's PAK – we'll call this portion the 'rational center' – wondered exactly why he was even _bothering _with it at all. Sure, the human was his enemy, but that issue was more of a matter of pride than anything else, and at this point, and in this situation, pride _definitely_ shouldn't be at the forefront. The human shouldn't have been important.

He wasn't _worried_ about the Dib, was he? Zim shook his head roughly at that thought as he began scouting the area (before going on a search, it's usually a good idea to make sure nothing's going to ambush you while you're on it - even _he_ knew that). Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, the Irken quirked one antenna to test for anything his eyes might have missed; when they found as much nothing as before, he began making his way out of the ruins of the house and towards his enemy's neighborhood.

"Of _course_ I'm not worried about that _stoopid_ Dib-creature," he scoffed lowly as he picked up his pace, scurrying through yards and side alleys and avoiding the main streets when he could – another tactic that was common sense for any soldier, even an insane one like Zim, in such a situation.

Why _was_ he going out of his way to find his enemy, then? Zim paused unsurely, hanging back in the shadows of an alleyway between a crumbling wall and house as he bit at his bottom lip in thought. "Nrgh… I… He will be of some use to Zim, if he hasn't been…" He couldn't bring himself to finish that particular statement, though he couldn't figure why. That, of course, only got him frustrated, and he stomped one foot irritably. "It doesn't _matter_ why!" he exclaimed. "All that matters is that Zim is _NOT_ worried about that fiiiiilthy pig-smelly and is only ensuring that ZIM can be the one to deliver the final blow! The Dib is MINE to destroy! _That's_ all that matters!"

And that was that.

* * *

I'm telling you, there's no ZADR hints in here. Leave me alone.

(I'm being serious here, there's no ZADR hints. If - for some entirely bizarre reason - you think there are, you haven't read the 'Mopiness of Doom' script, or listened to the audio for it. THIS IS TOTALLY IN-CHARACTER. RARR.)

Next chapter will be up in about a week. ...So long as no one points out any ZADR hints.

...

THERE AREN'T ANY.

(And then Krys is shot in the leg for being an obnoxious prat.)


	6. In which certain skills might be useful

Surprise! Sudden chapter! And the next chapter will still be up in about two days! (Among other things, such as a reviewer's birthday, I'm celebrating finally finishing Chapter 16. It was long. XD)

Your reviews made me squirm with glee yet again. Just look! I'm squirmy! ((squirms)) I'm tempted to reply to all of them, but I know that would just get way too long. I'm still not sure how the reply button works on the reviews, seeing as how it wasn't there a year ago when I last bothered to post anything here. Does it e-mail the reviewer, or send them a PM on the site itself? ...Well, anyway. Let's move on, shall we?

Has Zim mentioned yet that he's amazing? Well, just to be safe, he does so in _this _chapter. Several times, even! How in-character is _that_? Wow.

* * *

******Chapter Six – In which certain skills might be useful**

It was all protocol, really. 'When you see a target, take it down' – in the books, official, wonderfully simply easy.

So, when the excited rambling had been heard, and when the Irken it came from was seen moments later, the Krakemeth did what protocol demanded of it and started shooting.

The first shot glancing off of Zim's PAK was all he needed to stop ranting, whip around, and realize that there were a couple of other shots that he should probably dodge if he didn't want extensive bodily damage. Dashing and hopping from side to side in a most ungraceful fashion, he was able to avoid most of the onslaught, though several of the plasma bolts had been successful in leaving rather large burn marks along various parts of his uniform.

Those would take ages to get out, the Irken observed with no small amount of irritation, though (of course) that wouldn't matter if his newest adversary killed him.

Which it wouldn't, because he was amazing.

Agony flared as another plasma bolt narrowly clipped his side; the Irken hissed lowly and forced back a pained grimace as he twisted out of the way of yet another shot, not wanting his opponent to be aware of any sort of weakness. He pointedly ignored the fact that the obvious injury would be enough to clue the other in, and also pointedly ignored the wet feel of blood soaking through his uniform. It was just a flesh wound, anyway – he could handle it. Again, he was amazing.

Okay, sure, perhaps a bit rusty in the battling department, but _still_ amazing.

To prove this point, if only to himself, Zim haphazardly rushed at the droid, a bolt of energy blazing dangerously close to his face before spiderlegs splayed out once more, the thin metal appendages weaving him out of the way of following shots before they hooked onto the covershield of the Krakemeth's droid. For one terrifying moment, Zim found himself wavering as the mental strain of the constant use of his mechanical legs rocketed wildly to a near punishing level – he'd have to end this quickly.

Metal legs slammed into the flexiglass covershield of the mech before slicing through with such ease as a knife through butter – the alien within looked sufficiently freaked, all four beady eyes bugging as it scrambled at the controls, trying to throw Zim off. The Irken clung to the droid stubbornly, however, spiderlegs retreating back into the PAK after yanking a portion of the covershield off and aside, allowing access to the creature within that was hastily taken.

"This is for ruining Zim's mission!" the Irken screeched as he slammed his fists against the other alien's head – or at least, he would've done that if one of the Krakemeth's dual-handed arms hadn't whipped up to keep him at bay.

Huh. It was stronger than he'd expected for a blobby, boneless-looking tentacle creature.

Seeing the other dual-arm reaching for a nearby plasma pistol, Zim snarled a few choice words and directed a sharp kick to his opponent's face, which connected with a particularly nauseating (albeit gratifying) squish. The alien promptly dropped the Irken to the floor of the droid, emitting a grating squeal of agony and clutching at the injury; as he grabbed frantically for the creature's pistol, Zim noted with some satisfaction that he'd ruptured one of its ugly eyes. Ah, yes, he was incredible.

Once the pistol was firmly in his grasp, Zim twisted around to face the creature, whipping the weapon up and readying to fire when one thick tentacle-leg slammed into his side with enough force to send him skidding backwards. As his PAK thudded roughly against the droid's metal wall, the Irken grit his teeth, clapping his free hand over his mouth to keep himself from shrieking in pain – it just had to be his _injured_ side that took the abuse – before lifting the weapon level once more and squeezing the trigger.

For a moment, both he (with pistol still held at the ready) and the Krakemeth (with one dual-arm still pressed against its ruined eye) were silent. Then, he gave a hesitant laugh that his opponent echoed in its typical gurgling fashion.

Of course. No one in their right mind left a plasma pistol laying around with the safety feature off.

The second dual-arm snatched him off the floor before he could correct the slight setback, bashing the Irken front-first into the edge of the control panel and knocking the wind out of him. The other dual-arm, slick with things Zim _definitely_ didn't want to think about, curled around his throat, further blocking off his air – he stubbornly kept his grip on the pistol, however, weakly struggling to get away.

Once again, it was his PAK that saved him. Drawing from emergency energy reserves, mechanical legs burst from the pod, seemingly of their own accord, and buried themselves forcefully into the thick skin of the Krakemeth above. Almost immediately, the dual-arms slackened somewhat, enough for Zim to get a gasp of air and a grasp of what was happening.

His mind reeled somewhat as his PAK turned control of the metal legs back to him, and he retracted them quickly, the appendages tearing back through the other alien's flesh in a very disorderly and distasteful fashion. The dual-arms clenched just slightly as the creature over him emitted an agonized screech, a piercing noise that quickly diminished to a choked burble – the Krakemeth then slumped heavily against him before sliding to the floor in a wet mess, leaving Zim standing shakily and struggling to regain his breath.

And so, half-covered in slick black liquid and clutching at the pistol as though it were a lifeline, the Irken collapsed feebly into the control chair (which was many times too big for him) and managing a faint grin as he glanced over the many buttons and levers. Yes, this would be perfect.

…Or perhaps not.

One panel had begun to blink red. Now usually, a blinking panel isn't something to be concerned about, but when a panel starts blinking _red_, you just _know_ something's wrong. Zim stared at the panel blankly for a moment, still trying to regain what little composure he usually had, before leaning in to examine it. Although it was in the Krakemeth's language, his PAK seemed to have translations for it, which was a surprise, to say the least.

It was about this time he remembered that the Krakemeth race had actually been covered during Invader training, and that he'd only partially paid attention during that lesson. And several other lessons, to be truthful – the antics of two certain Tallests-to-be had been exceptionally distracting.

Thank the Control Brains for direct-PAK data downloads.

Rolling his eyes a bit, he went about translating the six agonizingly long words – honestly, was everything in the Krakemeth language so complicated? One antenna quirked as Zim puzzled over one particular symbol – what on Irk _was_ that?! (If he tilted his head a little, it kind of looked like a pig face…)

"Pirate? …No, that's not right. Ah! _Pilot_!" Zim corrected himself, pleased at his minimal progress before making a rather strange face and asking no one in particular, "…What about the pilot?" Or perhaps he was asking the panel, which was just as useless – it did seem to be blinking faster, however.

"Pilot… Err…detected? No, no…determined. Yeah. That sounds good. Pilot determined… Determined…diseased? Zim is not _diseased_!" the Irken exclaimed before something clicked, and in favor of ranting he translated numbly, "Pilot determined deceased. Initiating…"

For one rare moment, Zim went completely silent. Then, he pushed open the covershield, slid out of the droid, and started running.

He was hardly thirty feet away when the droid self-destructed.

* * *

(Insert explosion sound effect here.)

(Insert complaint about how the author is completely unfunny here.)

(Insert witty disclaimer about how Invader Zim doesn't belong to the author because the author is a ZADR-shipping woman, which Jhonen is clearly _not_.)

(Insert complaint about how the author is completely unfunny here. ...Er...again.)

(Insert next chapter here in about...TWO DAYS!)

(Insert fifty bucks for the author here. ...No? _Damn_!)


	7. In which Zim is not so stealthy

Okay, if one looks hard enough, I guess that maybe there's a very slight hint of ZADR to be found here. Might've, you know...sneaked its way in. But I swear, this fic will _not _evolve into ZADR! Oh, no! ...That's for the prospective sequel. (Insert heaping helping of irony here.)

Man, you reviewers...you guys are great. Hugs for all of you! (Insert hugs here.)

(Insert an over-used joke about inserting something here. ...Oh, wait, that sounded kind of dirty. Never mind.)

* * *

******Chapter Seven – In which Zim is not-so-stealthy**

From his spot on the ground, Zim groaned miserably and spat out a lump or two of dirt, rubble, and Tallests knew what else. Sure, he'd narrowly avoided certain death (this time via exploding) once again, but now his mouth was all gritty and he had an impressive array of bumps, bruises, and other such wounds from both the scuffle with the droid's pilot and the explosion's resulting shrapnel.

All in all, he wasn't feeling too great.

But, at least he was alive. (Now that's positive thinking, kids!)

Getting to his feet shakily, the Irken brushed at his uniform – a useless gesture, really, seeing as it was now thoroughly soaked with two different kinds of blood, caked with dirt, and had a good amount of rips of varying sizes and shapes. And his _boots_ were all scuffed up! Zim pouted a bit, but refused to dwell on it – there were other, more important things. Like figuring out where the heck Dib was.

Antennae perked as something came to mind. "It's Saturday!" Zim exclaimed, seemingly out of nowhere until he continued. "That's the Dib-human's grocery day!"

Silence.

Then… "_Why_ do I know that?" he asked himself hesitantly, somewhat creeped out. Certainly he and the Dib didn't stalk each other _that_ much.

His data drives figured that now would be a splendid time to mention that since Dib generally did his grocery shopping in the morning, he would've been at the Smiff's closest to his house when the Krakemeth race began their invasion.

…Okay, maybe they _did_ stalk each other that much.

Sighing and shrugging, Zim derailed that particular train of thought, instead focusing on the quickest way to the store – it was only slightly farther than the Dib's neighborhood, he knew, so it wouldn't take long to get there, even on foot.

He'd just have to be careful.

* * *

Now that Zim thought about it, carrying the deceased Krakemeth's plasma gun along with him had been the greatest idea he'd had all day.

No, scratch that – it was probably the greatest idea he'd had in _weeks_.

Not long after he'd departed on his epic journey to the store in order to save a human he absolutely detested, and quite soon after he'd told himself he'd have to be careful, the Irken had run across a wide street without looking both ways. He then realized that he'd just garnered the full attention of a group of Krakemeth warrior droids prowling nearby.

It wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done, but at least it wasn't the stupidest. At that point, he'd at least acquired a weapon that wouldn't be mentally exhausting to protect himself with.

Unfortunately, he was about as efficient with a plasma pistol as he was with his PAK legs.

He'd spent a good five minutes just running from the droids and screaming at the top of his Irken equivalent of lungs before he even had the presence of mind to start shooting at them. Even then, he missed pretty much every shot; when you're terrible at aiming, you can be pretty darn sure that you won't be much better when you're aiming over your shoulder.

But, regardless of Zim's ability to aim, one could always – _always_ – count on his ability to cause senseless destruction in the most unbelievable of ways.

Not two blocks from the Smiff's store, one of Zim's shots blasted the top off of a crooked lamppost, which buried itself into a nearby power conduit, which promptly exploded, which in turn caused the nearby cars (and remains of cars) to catch on fire and _also_ explode, taking each of the pursuing droids along with them.

He wasn't exactly sure _how_ it happened, but at this point – just a block from his destination – Zim didn't really care. He was just glad it _had_ happened, because it made things a heck of a lot easier.

When the store finally came into view, the Irken almost turned back. That tiny portion of his PAK – that one small rational center – was screaming at him to just forget it, and the rest of his PAK screamed along with it. _Loudly_. And damn him and his innate sense of self-preservation, he almost listened.

But…he _couldn't_ just forget about it – this was the _Dib_. This was his _enemy_! His _pride_ was at stake here! A little bit of fire and structural instability weren't going to scare the almighty _ZIM_ away – it wasn't like the whole _building_ was on fire! Just…a large portion of it.

With one quick glance at his surroundings for potential threats, and one slight moment of hesitation, Zim sprinted the remaining distance, heading around to the side of the store – from what he could tell, it would be impossible to enter from the front. It was likely that the blaze had originated there initially, considering the state of the entrance hall (or lack thereof).

He was nearing a side exit when he caught sight of the droid; it was facing away from him, patrolling near the far end of the store, but the only thing that mattered was the former fact. The creature inside couldn't see Zim, and that was simply perfect. The Irken shoved at the door, which remained stubbornly closed. He then kicked at it in frustration, which only succeeded in making his foot hurt.

Grimacing, Zim hastily shifted his weight to his less injured foot and glared at the offending door, as though the sheer force of his hatred would be able to knock it down (which it didn't, in case you were wondering). Spotting a flash of light against glass out of the corner of his eye, he turned to find that the droid had done just the same – his gaze met and locked with that of the Krakemeth within. It seemed surprised, but that didn't keep it from starting towards the unexpected target.

Said unexpected target hastily shoved at the door again before noting the small 'pull' sign on the door handle (which was somewhat hot, Zim observed as he promptly yanked the door open to dash inside).

It was also somewhat hot inside, a fact the Irken couldn't really dwell on when the warrior droid smashed through a nearby portion of wall, sending him off-balance and stumbling into a large barrel of what was apparently pinto beans if the sign was of any indication (though they were clearly _not_ pinto beans). At the very least, though, the 'pinto beans' kept the Krakemeth from seeing him.

Hopefully this one didn't have access to bioscanners.

When no strange shuddering feeling came, Zim just about sighed in relief; the droid was meandering away, an action he could barely hear over the roar of the spreading fire and the 'pinto beans' he'd been submerged in up to his antennae. Dragging himself out when he assumed it was safe, the Irken gasped for breath, only to get a lovely lungful of smoky air.

Oh, right - fire, he remembered as he struggled not to cough. His PAK filters were quick to kick in, a thin atmospheric bubble flickering around his head before fading away, seeming to not even exist. Its effects were immediate and obvious, however, and Zim took a refreshing breath of clean air before setting off, venturing deeper into the ruined heart of the grocery store and keeping a wary eye out for the solitary droid.

* * *

Zim got lucky _this _time...

...Well, actually, he's gotten lucky all over the place. I wish I had that much luck. D:

Next chapter to be posted in about a week from now, I suppose. Let's see if Zim keeps on being lucky. (Odds are good - 1 to 100. Any bets?)

WARNING: DO NOT BET AGAINST AN AUTHORESS, FOR SHE MAY CHANGE THE STORY ON A WHIM. (She can do that, ya know.)

AND NOW IT'S TIME FOR A RANDOM OMAKE

Antennae perked as something came to mind. "It's Caturday!" Zim exclaimed.

_**SEE YA NEXT WEEK, GUYS. :D**_


	8. In which Dib's nerves are frazzled

Sorry about the late update. I won't even bother making a decent excuse for myself, like my internet connection ceasing to work - I just didn't update because I was busy reading the Forgotten Realms series. ALL OF IT. And on that note...Drizzt Do'Urden is awesome. You have to agree, even if you don't know who he is. He's just _that _awesome.

Moving on, though.

Some of you might me vaguely to very angry with me for this chapter. You'll see why. But anyway, now the _other _'hero' makes his appearance! And boy is he - **DUE TO SPOILERS, THE REST OF THIS AUTHOR NOTE HAS BEEN DEACTIVATED.**

**PREPARE FOR CHAPTERING.**

* * *

**Chapter Eight - In which Dib's nerves are frazzled**

"Eww - no. …Eww again – no again. Double eww – that's _definitely_ not the Dib." Zim stepped over yet another bloody corpse, one hand pressed against his lower 'spooch in a thoroughly sad attempt to keep from being sick as he hastily searched amongst the massacre. So far, there'd been no such luck; all he'd managed to find so far was- "AGH! That's simply _revolting_!"

Edging around the revolting whatever-it-was (which will be left up to the reader's imagination), the Irken gave a horrified shudder before glancing around helplessly. This was no good, no good at all. The fire was spreading far too quickly now – even his initial entrance had been engulfed by the flames and rendered useless, and he hadn't even covered much ground yet.

After a moment of thought, Zim sighed harshly and began a brisk jog towards the back of the store, the only portion that had yet to fall victim to the blaze. At the rate things were going, though, it wouldn't be that way for long, and he didn't want to lose the opportunity to escape while he still could. Considering the state of the place, even if Dib _had_ been here, he wouldn't have made it out alive. A disappointing thought, certainly, but one that could only fuel his wrath – oh, how these wannabe invaders would _cower_ when they realized just what they'd brought upon themselves…

A very tiny and somewhat twisted giggle escaped him as he ran, cut short at a flash of familiarity – the Irken screeched to a halt immediately, eyes wide and antennae perked up in shock.

The Dib-sister.

Zim bit at his lower lip, fighting back queasiness and uncertainty. He was quick to back away, tearing his eyes from the sight. It had told him everything it could, everything he needed to know – the Dib _had _to be here. Whether he had shared the same fate as his sister, however, had yet to be seen. He glanced back to the demon-girl's body only once, flattening antennae slightly in a grudgingly respectful salute.

Granted, he'd always been displeased with the disrespect she'd shown the Dib – her own brother, and more importantly, _his_ enemy – but the fact remained that, while the Gaz-creature had never been quite as much fun as her sibling, she had been a worthy opponent in her own right. Such an end was…unacceptable.

For the remains of such a strong creature to be burned to ash and left to the winds, however, was more than most Irken soldiers could hope for – it was fitting for someone like Gaz, Zim decided. She didn't seem the type who would want to be buried and cried over – not that there was anyone left to bury the dead, or to cry over them.

Would the Dib cry, if he knew his sister was gone?

It was a strange thought. Zim shook his head a bit, scoffing – in all the years he'd known Dib, not once had the boy let slip even one ounce of weakness. No tears, no begging, nothing. It had been frustrating, really, but the frustration was easily matched by respect, and quite nearly admiration – the only person Zim had ever known to match the Dib in his dedication and strength of willpower was…well…_himself_. (He reminded himself at this point that he was just _entirely_ amazing.)

He also reminded himself at this point that he should probably hurry – he was now quite certain that Dib was here (though not so much as to the current state of his health), and all he had to do was find him. Easier said than done, really, seeing as how over half the store was on fire. Nothing he couldn't handle, though. He was amazing, remember?

And so, Zim did the first thing that came to mind, and as usual, he did it without really thinking it through. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he started yelling for his enemy, using every single rude pet-name he'd come up with for the Dib since the very first moment they'd met (Dib-stink, Dib-monkey, Dib-slug, you name it, he yelled it).

It worked, to some degree, in that it actually managed to garner someone's attention.

A flat and entirely ghastly noise wavered through the ruined building as the lone Krakemeth droid barreled towards the source of the sounds, and once again, Zim did the first thing that came to his mind. He ducked through a small aisle and dove out of sight under a half-toppled shelving unit-

-and collided headfirst with something quite warm and undeniably alive. Whatever it was, it was breathing, however much it was straining to do so. "I am _really_ getting tired of running into stuff," Zim grumbled very quietly to himself, giving a startled jump when the something he'd collided with coughed weakly.

He might have glared, or even whacked the something for making noise – he wasn't exactly in the mood to deal with yet another droid – but the sight that he was met with had him doing a double-take. That done, he glanced back to where the droid was meandering before returning his gaze to the miraculously alive human, who gave another light wheeze.

There was a moment of silence. Then, Zim gave a very small 'oh' of understanding and reached back to dig through his PAK, keeping his eye on the droid as it moved farther away from their hiding place, still searching for the source of the noises. "You have no _idea_ the trouble I went through to find your sorry hide, _Dib_," the Irken muttered irritably, pulling a rather simple-looking device from his PAK and affixing it to the teen's face.

Or, at least he would have if Dib hadn't swatted his hand away. Zim blinked, unsure as to whether he should be surprised or annoyed – he settled on the latter. "What do you think you're _doing_? I'm trying to save your worthless life!" he spat, attempting to pin the human down to shove the device over his mouth.

"Don't touch me! Get off!" Dib managed before he broke off into a coughing fit that, unfortunately for Zim, completely failed to keep him from struggling.

"Dib! Calm down, or it'll hear us!" the Irken hissed in reply, almost jabbing the other boy in the throat with the device as he wrestled with him. The warning had Dib stilling somewhat, hazy understanding managing to push past the many layers of panic, and Zim took this opportunity to less-than-gently shove the device into place.

Clean air rushed into Dib's lungs; he gave a shocked sound, then sat silently for a moment before needlessly adjusting the atmospheric mask and glancing about blearily, gaze locking with Zim's.

The Irken watched him expectantly, already imagining (in his typical egocentric fashion) how the Dib would be ever-so-grateful and praise him endlessly for his hard work in saving him, despite how completely unworthy he was to be saved by someone as entirely amazing as the great ZIM. What he didn't anticipate was getting a fistful of hand towels to the face – hand towels slightly stained with certain red human bodily fluids, no less. It was all he could do to keep from screeching bloody murder and giving the boy a good wallop to the head.

"This is all your fault!" Dib hissed at him, eyes narrowed angrily – it took the would-be invader a moment to realize that the boy was mostly just squinting; his glasses seemed to have fallen off somewhere. He looked even dumber without them, Zim noted silently with a small lopsided grin, and thus he pointedly avoided mentioning that they were laying not a foot from where they were seated.

As though he could just sense what the other was thinking, Dib began shuffling his hands about the floor irritably, searching blindly before latching onto the spectacles and putting them on as hastily as possible. The boy's eyes narrowed again, and this time it was clear that he wasn't in the best of moods – having one's planet razed tended to wear on one's mentality. The little grin on the alien's face only fueled his ire. "You think I'm joking? Stupid little lizard – _this is your fault_! I _HATE_ you!"

Zim blinked, unsure of how to respond to this for the shortest moment before he reverted to his most favorite of ways to hide uncertainty – haughty indignation. "_Zim's_ fault? _Please_, as though a superior soldier such as myself would employ such a _pitiful_ race – though one not so pitiful as your own - to wipe you all out," he drawled, waving a dismissive hand before adding icily, "This was none of Zim's doing, smelly _hyuu­_-man."

"_You could have stopped them_!" the teen growled violently in response, shoving him hard enough to have him sprawling back onto his butt with a surprised squeak.

The surprise faded quickly, and the Irken shoved Dib back, glaring for all he was worth. "And that makes it ZIM'S fault? PAH! Why didn't _you_ stop them?!"

"I-!" Dib started frantically, but stumbled over his next words, and all that came out was a useless string of nonsense, consonants that ran every which way and vowels all over the place before the boy went mostly silent, still mumbling lightly and looking impeccably guilty. "I…I couldn't." He looked up sharply, meeting Zim's gaze uncertainly, and continued babbling helplessly – typical Dib, Zim thought, but everything coming out was so, so _wrong_.

"I wanted to help them! Really, I did, but it all happened so _fast_, I didn't know what to do and I – I almost got caught once or…twice, I think." The rambling slowed for a moment, the teen looking unsure as he waved his hands about uselessly, as though to emphasize – a curious trait many humans seemed to share, from what Zim had seen (he ignored the fact that Irkens tended to do the same, content to think the two races had next to nothing in common). "I don't know, but – I did want to help, I just – I couldn't _move_, and… Oh, man, it's…it's _my _fault, isn't it?"

For once, Dib looked truly and honestly crushed, and Zim was tempted to agree with his bizarre conclusion for the sake of rubbing it in and making the boy feel even worse. It would do wonders for his own ego, he knew, but for that very reason – and his PAK was strangely of the same opinion – the Irken thought he should avoid it if at all possible. They were now in a similar metaphorical spaceship (or boat, if you prefer), and while they weren't entirely in the _same_ spaceship (or boat), there was no reason to journey deeper into the black hole (or 'churn the waters further').

His PAK decided that this metaphor didn't quite make much sense, which subsequently caused Zim to decide that his PAK's decisions were utter rubbish and that it should really just shut up sometimes. He also decided that it would be really nice if Dib would just shut up for a change, too. So, rather than being a complete and utter jerk and agreeing with Dib to make himself feel better, Zim was a complete and utter jerk and instead told him to shut up.

Dib stared at his companion quizzically, and somewhat hurtfully, for a moment, not entirely certain what had prompted it. Sure, Zim yelled at people to shut up all the time, but it was usually just _other_ people, and not so much him. The teen always figured the Irken _liked_ to listen to his ranting, if only so he could make up a great big counter-rant (which always ended up stating at least five or six of the three-thousand-and-eighty-two ways – all of which Zim himself concocted – Dib and the rest of his race were mentally unsound).

Zim frowned at him in return before reiterating slowly and clearly. "SHUT. UP." When the teen's expression didn't change, the alien gave a grating sigh and added blandly, "You're a moron, and your voice is dumb. So if you wouldn't _mind_, stop faulting everyone who hasn't got a _thing_ to do with a random alien invasion. You know who's at fault for that? The _random aliens_. Cuz, you know…they're kind of the ones who did the invading. Kind of annoying, seeing as _ZIM_ was supposed to do that, but…eh…_moving on_! It's certainly not Zim's fault they invaded, and it's not your stinky self's fault either, so _stop whining_! It's really annoying!"

There was a short amount of silence once Zim was done, and that quizzical expression that seemed to make the teen seem twice as retarded as the Irken usually found him failed to fade. Then, Dib shook his head, one eyebrow raised. "I'm not sure whether to punch you or_ thank you_ for saying that," he stated incredulously, mild disbelief taking the place of the quizzicality (Zim immediately decided he much preferred the latter, as he now thought that Dib just looked outright stupid).

"You may praise Zim now, if you like," the Irken replied good-naturedly, looking rather proud of himself. He didn't know exactly why Dib had used that particular response – he guessed that the boy had found something in his rant (initially aimed to make him stop talking) that had made him feel better – but all that really mattered was that Dib had mentioned thanking him, and in Zim's mind, that meant praise. And praise was _good_.

A deadpan look crossed the teen's face then, and he stared at the alien levelly. He then replied, very flatly, "Actually, I think I'd just like to punch you now."

Antennae perked up before flattening back into Zim's usual 'I'm indignant so FEAR ME' posture. "I saved your useless life!" he protested irately, all glares and hands fisted once again.

It was another statement met with silence. Dib looked rather torn, brow furrowed lightly and teeth chewing at his bottom lip, and in the end he didn't say anything at all; the teen merely sighed and nodded.

Understanding the action, the Irken tilted his head up in a somewhat haughty manner. "You are welcome," he stated bluntly, his usual smirk making its way across his face – it was surprisingly quick to fade as he remembered the fire with a slight jolt; the fresh air he was being supplied with, and his reunion with the Dib, had brought him to completely forget about it. A previous idea that had been festering in his mind, however, brought the smirk right back. "_So_. What say we get out of here before we're burnt to a crispy crisp, and get revenge on these tentacled nasties?"

"...Sounds good," Dib replied wearily. "It's not like I have much of a choice, anyway."

* * *

Silly Dib, you _never_ have a choice. (Especially not when you're in MY fanfics. Now make out with Zim, 'kay?)

I realize now that I probably should have done a bit of research on fire beforehand. I'm not entirely sure how quickly a fire can spread in a good-sized department/grocery store (think Wal-Mart Supercenter size) if it starts out small. I do know that fires can go on for hours and hours (even if it's being countered with SUPER FIRE HOSES), but the spread...mmm...not so much. So if it's totally unrealistic, which it probably is, I sincerely apologize. (And if it is unrealistic, and you know so through first or second-hand experience, I'd be thrilled if you explained it to me - good chance for me to learn something! :3)

Next chapter will be up in about a week to hopefully entertain you all, I suppose. Normally it would've been up earlier to make up for the lateness of this chapter, but I need to adjust bits and pieces of it. I recently realized that I'd been forgetting about a character, and a small plot point important to a later chapter. The chapter I'm currently stuck on writing at the moment, actually.


	9. In which Zim hits like a girl

Long chapter is loooooong. With lots of dailooooogue. I love writing dialogue - couldn't do much with only Zim.

Also, the chapter titles are in reference to the book version of 'Howl's Moving Castle' (the Miyazaki movie was NOTHING LIKE THE BOOK, ARGH) and a web-book I occasionally read called 'Tales of M.U.' - the chapter titles of the former generally detail the chapter overall, while the latter will take something that happens in the chapter and make it seem like an extremely important event when it is, in fact, completely trivial. The latter will also occasionally make that completely trivial thing seem somewhat perverted. XD

And, I decided to take a short-cut around the fire issue, because I couldn't get any concrete evidence on how quickly fire spreads. So if the short-cut I took seems somewhat pathetic, that's because it is. 8D

I'd apologize for the lateness, but instead, I'll blame it on the fact that fire makes absolutely no freakin' sense.

* * *

******Chapter Nine – In which Zim hits like a girl**

"So how did you find me, anyway?" Dib asked curiously as he crawled out from under the shelves, Irken savior close beside him.

Zim blew a little raspberry at the question, serpentine tongue lolling out of his mouth for a second afterwards before he merely replied, "Long story. Zim shall explain later. Yes." He glanced up, antennae perking. "Oh, hello."

"Huh?" The teen chose this moment to glance up as well, and was quite prompt to shriek a choice phrase of 'OH MY GOD'. Or, to be more accurate, he shrieked about half of it before Zim shoved him aside, pulled out his stolen plasma pistol, and actually managed to shoot a hole through the side of the droid's covershield.

The Krakemeth inside wasn't entirely pleased, if his whacking Zim into a nearby shelf was any indication. "Ha! Is that all you've got, pitiful wormy-thing?!" the Irken exclaimed. "A _smeet_ could hit harder than you!" He pointedly ignored the fact that his squeedilyspooch had been bruised in seven places and three ribs were cracked. His PAK could fix that stuff, anyway. Mmmmyep. All he had to do was not die first. And not dying was easy – he'd been not dying for a little over a century and a half now!

Zim extracted himself from the crater he'd made in the shelf, just in time to duck into a rather painful-looking roll to avoid a sharp droid-appendage, which buried itself where his head had been just moments before. "You know, it'd probably be a lot easier to kill it if you'd actually _shoot_ at it!" Dib called from his 'safe' spot behind a slightly scorched bargain poster.

"I'm _working_ on it!" Zim screeched back, fumbling with the gun for a moment before aiming and firing – the shot glanced off one of the droid's legs. "I meant to do that!"

"Use your PAK legs!" the human exclaimed, giving a little wince when the droid swatted Zim off his feet, the would-be invader only narrowly avoiding being impaled. "Before you end up getting yourself killed!"

The Irken threw up his hands in frustration, accidentally firing a shot that ricocheted off the covershield. "Yeah, that'd be _real_ smart if I could actually _use_ them right now! It's not like I had to mentally exhaust my amazing self using them to get here in the _first place_!"

"Oh, and I'm guessing I was _supposed_ to know that, because…_yeah_, I'm psychic and everything!" Dib yelled back irritably, scowling when Zim bluntly responded with a 'yep' and continued to suck at aiming. After smacking a hand to his forehead, the teen rushed from his hiding spot and snatched for the pistol. "_Give me that_! You couldn't hit a brick wall if it was five feet in front of your _face_!"

Zim glared at him and pulled back on the weapon. "Yeah, _great idea_, let's get in an argument over who can aim better when we're being attacked in a grocery store about to go up in smoke! _I'm_ the trained soldier here, so leave this to _ZIM_! I can handle this simple opponent with ease!" he snapped, waving his free hand in the direction of the droid, which seemed to have slowed to a stop, the Krakemeth within staring at the two incredulously.

Dib tugged back on the pistol, returning the glare full-force. "This would be a _lot_ easier if you'd just hand it over, because at least _I_ know I can _aim_, Mr. Superior Irken Soldier," he stated, the last bit metaphorically dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, so you can just _turn_ on Zim and save your own sorry hide? Did you think ZIM would not see through your scheme?! TREACHERY! TREACHERY!" Zim shrieked, giving a couple of little yanks on the pistol that made it seem more as though he were a small child having a tantrum and trying to take a toy back from his mother, rather than the trained soldier he actually was.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me!" Dib exclaimed, clearly frustrated. "For your information, I-" He trailed off, a bemused expression settling on his face. "Uh…what's that gurgling noise?" The two glanced from their miniature and quite juvenile game of tug-of-war and up to the droid, which they hadn't even realized had stopped moving – the creature inside was shaking with suppressed gurgles. "Er…what is it doing?"

Zim stared at the Krakemeth for a split second before stating dully, "It's laughing."

"At us, right?" the teen responded, equally dull.

"Most likely," Zim replied, unimpressed. "What _else_ would it be laughing at?"

There was a bit of quiet, in which Dib thought to himself, still tugging at the pistol. Then, he stated hesitantly, "It might've just thought of a terribly funny joke."

"A terribly funny joke about shooting the both of us, maybe," the Irken responded dryly, pulling back on the weapon between them. "You want to know what the punchline is? Us – dead. I don't know about you, but _Zim_ doesn't find that funny."

"Yes, well…I think we both know what a better punchline would be, huh?"

Zim glanced to the human curiously, then to the Krakemeth (which had diminished into a quivering mass of gurgly giggles – no threat there for the moment), before questioning uncertainly, "Uh…sure – us…_not_ dying?" Well, it _seemed_ obvious enough.

A light chuckle escaped Dib. "Er…that was a rhetorical question, but…sure. Not dying would be good. And taking _that_ thing out would probably be a big help. Maybe we could even commandeer its droid."

"Eh…that last part won't work out so well. Trust Zim. But, yes, we shall destroy this…thing. 'Mortal enemies working together for the common good', was it?" the Irken responded, a strange grin spreading on his face.

"Something like that," Dib agreed, mirroring the alien's expression as he glanced down to the pistol between them, then back up to his companion. "I aim, you shoot?"

The Irken gave an amused sound, one antenna perking with interest. "Sounds acceptable. Zim would still be shooting the creature, so Zim would still get the credit!" He easily ignored the teen's slight frown. "Heh – it thinks it would be funny to shoot us, thinks it would be funny if we were dead, yet we shoot it and kill it instead. You were right…that _is_ a much better punchline."

Dib rolled his eyes, though the irritated frown had vanished – he felt strangely calm, and almost…_good_. "I'm pretty sure it was just laughing at us arguing," he replied mildly.

"In which case we should shoot it, anyway. _No one_ mocks the Irken elite and their allies," Zim stated, antennae poised proudly and stance battle-ready – he really could pull off the soldier look when he wanted to. "_Especially_ not such despicable creatures such as _this_. Don't you agree, Dib-human?"

He didn't even need to say anything. Dib shifted his grip to the Irken's wrist, directing to where it should be to bring the pistol level with its target – he was a mix of thankful and guilty (but mostly thankful) for all the many times he'd chased after his nemesis with a SuperSoaker – and gave the alien a light squeeze; not even half a second had passed before Zim pulled the trigger.

The Krakemeth sat up sharply at the sound, gurgles ceasing a split second before a plasma bolt sliced its way neatly through the droid's covershield and burned a hole through the flesh of one meaty shoulder. It shrieked in a mix of pain and fury, scrambling at the controls and dribbling ink-black blood as it pushed levers forward, the droid shifting back into motion.

Dib adjusted the aim once again, sweat – from nervousness, exertion, fire – trailing down his forehead and leaving streaks in the thin layer of dust and grime covering him. "Again," he demanded. Zim didn't need to be told twice.

A sick splat, dulled somewhat by the covershield, was heard, and the alien within slumped and fell from the control seat, the droid freezing. There was a heavy silence, and after a slight sigh, Zim glanced back to the human. "I…think we should run," he suggested, pulling his wrist from the teen's grip – they may be allied at the moment, but that didn't mean he was willing to allow the other the _honor_ of touching him without good reason.

Wiping at the sweat on his face and smearing around the grime (there was a noticeable grimace from Zim), Dib asked tiredly, "And why's that?"

"Oh, no reason, it's just that the droids tend to explode when you've killed their pilots," Zim responded blandly with a little shrug.

It was a fact that had the teen's eyes bugging. "Think you could've mentioned that _earlier_?!" Dib exclaimed, giving the Irken an irritated shove – not so hard as to send him off balance, but hard enough to show he wasn't pleased. Zim simply huffed at him, and the two set off at a brisk pace. "We don't even know if the store is stable enough to hold up against something like that! It is still…kinda on fire." He glanced about curiously as they ran. "Huh – I must not have been out that long, if it's still standing and I haven't been burnt to ashes yet…" He then turned his gaze to Zim (and nearly ended up tripping over some poor mutilated body just minding its own business lying dead in the aisle). "How long _has_ it been, anyway?"

The Irken seemed to think about this, looking back over his shoulder at the spreading fire, then down to his PAK. "Well, Zim had been searching for your pitiful self for at _least_ half an hour…"

"And…I definitely would've fried to death by then," Dib responded, looking skeptical. He figured that Zim must have been out looking for him even _before_ the store had been attacked, although he didn't have much to go off of. Scratching his head and wondering as they went, he then asked, "Where'd the attack originate?"

Zim continued running, easily keeping up next to his rival, and for a while it seemed as though he hadn't heard – he was more intent on something moving about through the blaze behind them – then, he turned his head, brow furrowed. "Ehn? How should _Zim_ know? I was busy devising _ingenious_ plans to destroy the human race when they beamed me from my base and did _my_ job; _terribly_, too, seeing as they _missed_ a human. Stupid copying _worm_-creatures!" Dib's resulting flat look had him pausing, then answering the initial question offhandedly, "Probably started in the middle of the city – more damage to do there."

Appeased by this, and started to feel just a little bit winded, the teen nodded; Zim's neighborhood (and his own, he realized worriedly) was a bit farther in towards the city limits compared to here. "Guess I really _wasn't_ out that long, then," he mumbled to himself, this time remembering to skirt around the next corpse lying in their way. (Zim, on the other hand, wasn't quite as lucky, and ended up slamming face-first into a thoroughly filthy tile floor.)

Uttering what was clearly a curse in his native language as he lifted himself from the floor, the Irken wiped at his face with his sleeve – a useless gesture that only relocated some of the mess to the cloth and smeared the rest of it around. He then cursed again, in English this time so that Dib would notice his plight and do something to help his bruised ego.

No such luck, though – Dib was more worried about staying calm enough to stay alive. Rather difficult, really, when you're trying to escape a burning building. "I can't believe I didn't even realize what was happening!" he groaned, vexed that he'd been so wrapped up in his usual schedule that he'd practically handed Earth over to these new aliens. That was something he complained about the _rest_ of the human race doing!

Rather aggravated that his ego hadn't been assuaged as he'd expected, Zim responded in a mockingly pleasant tone, "Zim isn't surprised; you were never really _that_ much smarter than the rest of the human pig-things. Even if you _had_ realized, it wouldn't have mattered. The Krakemeth race don't do things in bits and pieces – all but the hive mothers and their leaders would have been down here, spread across the entire planet and annihilating everything in their paths. Face it, Dib-" Zim snickered meanly at this point, seeming to almost skip for the slightest of seconds. "-your race has absolutely no means of protecting itself against a full-scale alien invasion. I'm surprised it took the tentacley things so long, but then…they _are_ unrefined in the methods of invading."

Zim chuckled to himself, as though at some kind of inside joke, before continuing. "Irkens are much quicker at the full-scale invasion stuff, you know. One quick go-over with the organic sweepers-" He flared his hand out dramatically, a deranged grin pasted on his face. "-five minutes tops, I'd say."

Dib gave a slight interested noise, but looked rather off-put at his companion's enthusiasm; what was so great about bringing other races to their knees? He thought back to Torque and the other bullies suddenly, then considered how it felt whenever he managed to put Zim in his place. It was all about power. Of course. "You're all a bunch of intergalactic bullies," he muttered lowly, feeling just a small twinge of hypocrisy that he was quite keen to ignore. Something he wasn't quite sure of nagged at him for a moment before he realized what it was, and he glanced over at Zim, surprised. "Wait, you _know_ about this race?"

A similar expression crossed the Irken's face as he stared back at Dib, as though he'd expected him to already know that – which he probably had. "Of course. They were covered in the educational plug. They destroy planets and races for fun or for monies," he explained, a slight hint of disgust in his tone that suggested that Irkens at least made good (or at the _very_ least, vaguely good) use of what they conquered. "There were actually two lessons, I think, but Red and Purple were always really distracting, so I just got it all in a data download, straight to my PAK." He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, as though this was entirely common. Given how the Irken race worked, it seemed plausible.

The information was slightly dizzying – Zim knew all about this new invading race, and he'd learned it all in one go? Dib didn't doubt that the Irken had put most of it at the back of his mind, though, deeming it all worthless until now. There was another tidbit that caught the boy's interest, and he managed to speak up again, almost completely out of breath – thankfully, though, they were nearing their escape route. "Red and Purple? Who're they?"

It was this question that had the alien looking over at Dib with wide, disbelieving eyes, answering in a way that suggested that _everyone_ ought to know this. "They're the Tallests," he answered slowly, seeming almost concerned (and not at all out of breath, the human noted with a slight tinge of envy).

"You went to school with the your _leaders_?!" To say the teen was shocked was putting it mildly, and it had Zim's antennae quirking curiously.

"Well, they weren't the Tallests _then_," Zim responded off-handedly, giving a somewhat sympathetic shake of his head. How sad it must be, to not know of beings as glorious as the Almighty Tallests!

Dib ignored this gesture, more interested in asking questions now that Zim was actually answering (although in a way that suggested that the Irken felt that his companion had more mental problems than he'd initially expected). "Were you friends?"

The Irken was swift to slither out of answering that particular question by glancing back, humming lowly to himself, and stating warningly, "It's probably about ready to blow. It should have already, but…ehh. Maybe the thing just wasn't entirely dead when we left it." Just another unlikely incident to add to the rapidly growing list.

He wondered again what the moving something had been, but decided that it was better off forgotten. And burned in a stupid Earth store. Heh – fire. Zim gave a strange giggle, making it quite clear that he'd also forgotten, however purposefully, about the most recent question.

A disappointed look flitted across Dib's face at the evasion, but he nodded dully anyway, slowing his pace enough to where he could breathe – seeing the state he was in, his companion did the same, although with an obvious amount of disdain. "I hope there isn't anything overly flammable near that droid…"

"Huh," Zim responded airily. "I thought that was the linens aisle. …And wasn't that about two aisles down from the hair products? The very extremely combustible ones in the cans labeled 'contents under pressure, do not incinerate or otherwise burn unless you're an idiot'?"

They were quiet for a moment before Dib threw his hands up, giving an irritated yell. "I just _had_ to say something, didn't I?! Thank you _so_ much, Lady Luck! I love how you're just _always_ on my side!"

The Irken tilted his head, one eye narrowing slightly in confusion. "Who's Lady Luck?"

"No one. Never mind," Dib huffed, a little more meanly than he intended. He then tried again, "So, were you?"

"Ehh?"

"Friends."

Zim glanced around hesitantly, then back in the direction of the droid. He then turned his gaze back to Dib, shouting a simple warning ('Get down!') before shoving the human to the floor.

In actuality, he shoved him _before_ giving the warning, but either way, it's the thought that counts, and it ensured that both of them were safely behind something (the Playboy magazine display case, incidentally, which had Zim gagging in disgust) when the droid self-destructed, something which consequently brought about an aisle of linens and another aisle of hair care products to burst into flames and/or explode in a blazing ball of fiery doom. In any case, it only brought the fire's spreading to new speeds, and it was about this time that Dib started to panic.

Or…well…to start panicking again.

"WE'RE GONNA _DIE_!" Dib shrieked, on his knees and shaking poor Zim, who hadn't yet managed to get up, back and forth by the front of his already thoroughly abused uniform. A particularly charred washcloth (of an incredibly girly pink persuasion) chose that moment to fly over the display case they were hiding behind and land rather precariously on the teen's scythe-lock, and as he was shaken around, it was pretty much all the Irken could look at. It was really kind of amusing, he thought.

"We're not going to die," Zim responded automatically, almost bored.

Not seeming to hear him at all, Dib tightened his grip on the collar of the Irken's uniform and continued his panicked rant, something about doom and death and the kinds of things one would generally expect to hear from Miss Bitters – coming from Dib, it was just weird. "And our flesh'll be _burned off our bones_! I LIKE MY FLESH!" he wailed pitifully.

There was something that Zim had always wanted to try. He'd done something similar before, back when he'd ingeniously turned the Dib-human into baloney-meat (and not-so-ingeniously infected himself, as well), but it simply hadn't had the same effect – from what he figured, he just hadn't really done it right.

Now seemed like a good enough time to try again.

_Whack!_

Dib stopped short, mouth open in shock and staring wide-eyed at the Irken.

"Get ahold of yourself! We are _not_ going to die, especially not when _my_ amazing self is here!" Zim snapped, pulling himself up and dragging the boy with him. "_Honestly_! You're acting more like a lunatic than normal, and even _normal_ is scary where _you're_ concerned." He paused to swat bits of ash and dirt from the human's trenchcoat, not liking the fact that such a filthy thing was so close to, as he'd put it, his amazing self. Forget his own soiled uniform – _this_ thing was salvageable! (His PAK once again told him that he had some worrisome OCD habits, which Zim dutifully ignored.)

"Did you just _smack me_? Across the _face_?" Dib asked uncertainly, readjusting his glasses and giving the other a rather strange look as his coat was tidied up.

The Irken nodded, looking rather pleased with himself, doubly so as the trenchcoat regained a slight portion of its former mostly-non-filthy blackness. "Bet it hurt, huh?" he mocked, puffing his ego up further – a major accomplishment, really, seeing as how incredibly over-inflated and quite nearly planet-size it already was.

The teen gave a hesitant grin. "Er…not much, actually. To be honest, it was just…really girly. I was expecting you to be more of the 'punch someone in the face' type than anything else," he laughed.

"I can do that, too," Zim responded sourly, eyes narrowing up at Dib and antennae flattened back just about to the 'angry' position – not quite there, though, which was a relief to the human; there'd be no reasoning with his companion otherwise.

"No need," Dib stated with mock cheer, resting a hand on the Irken's PAK and guiding him along with him as he started walking once more (his arm was hastily knocked away and an offended look cast in his direction). "You're right – the _amazing_ Zim is here. How can _anything_ go wrong?"

Normally Zim wouldn't have noticed the sarcasm, and would have in fact agreed, but the human was being _entirely_ too cheerful about it – suspiciously so. The Irken glanced over at him, scowling. "You're mocking Zim, aren't you?"

"…Just a little."

"Hn." Silence. "Well, at least I don't have a fried pink washcloth on my head like _some_ smelly humans."

* * *

What'd I tell you? _Looooooong_.

FUN FACT - In the original posting of this chapter on my InsaneJournal, somehow the last line ended up with '_friend_ pink washcloth' rather than '_fried_ pink washcloth'. I'm not quite sure how it happened, seeing as I specifically remember it being 'fried', but either way, it got both me and a friend picturing an anthropomorphic washcloth. ...I took the idea a step further, though, and imagined said anthropomorphic washcloth in between a very confused Zim and Dib, clinging to their hands and swinging about cheerfully. I find it to be a rather disturbing image, truthfully.

Anyway, next chapter will probably be up in a week. (ANOTHER FUN FACT - I almost always accidentally type 'wekk' first when trying to type the word 'week'. It's really weird.)


	10. In which squealy larva is rescued

I lied about posting this chapter in a week. It's here now to make up for last one's lateness. I LIED. HA.

...Actually, I just forgot to change the update time in the last chapter to 'RIGHT NOW'.

But anyway.

Surely from the chapter title you can all guess what's going to happen. ...But here's hoping you're surprised, anyway! (You won't be.)

* * *

******Chapter Ten ****– ****In which squealy larva is rescued**

As they maneuvered their way through the wreckage of the grocery store, Zim was the first to hear the noise – ghastly, piercing, and simply _grating_ on his poor antennae. What worried him wasn't that it was a droid – no, far from it. What worried him was that the Dib would want to investigate. There was no doubt – none at all.

And, of course… "STOP!" Dib exclaimed, throwing an arm out and almost catching his Irken companion in the face – he would have, too, if Zim hadn't been expecting it. There was no way the teen could ignore such a noise. "Do you hear that?!"

"My senses are probably a gashmillion times better than yours, of _course_ Zim can hear it! Its _noise_ started to offend my auditory organs _long ago_! _Too_ long ago!" Zim snapped, shoving Dib's arm out of his way and continuing on, glaring back over his shoulder. "Now _come on_! We don't have time for this!" He made an obvious motion to the fire, somehow managing to look both unimpressed and aggravated at the same time.

"But – ZIM! We can't just leave it here!" Dib protested, turning on his heel and running towards the horrid sound. "There's no way I'll let it die, not after I failed everyone else!"

The alien gave a frustrated shriek, pulling at his antennae and stomping one foot indignantly – _why_ did the boy have to be so Irk-damned _stubborn_?! For a moment, Zim wavered about indecisively, glancing between the spreading fire – they'd be lucky if the entire _store_ wasn't ablaze in the next few minutes – and the exit – _blessedly_ close, but the Dib just _HAD_ to be a hero, and the Irken wasn't about to let all his hard work _saving_ the stupid monkey go to waste.

It was kind of an unfair advantage that the boy had going for him, really.

With another frustrated noise, Zim stormed after his temporary ally, growling curses and insults just loud enough for the other to know he was following, and that he wasn't at all pleased about it. "If we die because of a stupid screamy larva, I will _never_ forgive you," he informed Dib sourly, hands pressing antennae close to his scalp in an attempt to block out the wails – they were very close, something that the Irken wasn't sure whether to be relieved or irritated by; the little thing had _quite_ a set of lungs.

"If we die, you won't be alive to never forgive me, anyway. Look – we've got enough time to grab the kid and go. Don't freak out, okay?" Dib sighed exasperatedly, though there was a noticeable increase in his pace.

"Says the stupid human who was freaking out earlier," Zim retorted, kicking irritably at scattered merchandise and grumbling some more to clearly show his displeasure at being corrected by the teen.

There was no reply, sarcastic or otherwise, as the human broke into a run (he nearly tripped over a fallen bargain sign) to the source of the noise – a small pram, not at all tucked out of sight and simply sitting in the center of an aisle. "Oh, man – it's a wonder they left her alive!" Carefully lifting the infant from her pile of blankets, Dib gave her a quick once-over for any injuries – none, so far as he could tell.

As the teen took to wrapping her gently in one blanket, Zim shuffled over and directed a disinterested look at the child, wincing when she emitted a particularly high-pitched screech. "The noise probably scared them off," he stated dully.

Dib raised an eyebrow, resting the sobbing infant back in her pram in order to take a small duffel bag strapped to the back of it – a quick check confirmed that it contained diapers, bottles, and a myriad of other such baby supplies. After he'd secured the bag over one shoulder, he lifted the child again, cautiously cradling her against his chest, something which unfortunately left her tiny face right by his ear so he could suffer the full assault of her lung-capacity. He gave a heavy grimace, something that had his Irken companion chuckling. "Maybe so," Dib admitted. "Anyway, see? It didn't take much time at all – let's get going."

"Yes, yes. Zim is way ahead of you." And indeed, the alien was already two aisle-lengths away, smirking back at him. The teen rolled his eyes and jogged to catch up, though he was significantly slower – he didn't want to jostle the infant too much. Once he was side-to-side with his companion, the Irken cast an anxious glance back at the fire, then frowned up at him. "We could've been out of this place by now."

Dib gave an exasperated grumble, barely even heard over the veritable roar of the fire and the baby's wail. "I _know_, okay? I just…couldn't leave her there." He glanced to Zim, a hesitant grin on his face. "If you're allowed to save someone, why can't I? _I'm_ the one with the hero complex."

The Irken paused for just a second before giving a loud, derisive giggle, shaking his head incredulously. "That was a _terrible_ joke."

"I…wasn't joking."

"Jokes aside-" ('I _wasn't_ joking,' Dib reiterated here, only to be thoroughly ignored.) "-you shouldn't let my incredible act of generosity get to your fat head," Zim stated bluntly.

Dib frowned. "I always thought I'd grown into my head…"

"STOP INTERRUPTING! Zim wasn't _FINISHED_!" the Irken shrieked, one eye twitching irritably.

"Okay, okay…"

"SILENCE!" Zim snapped at him, then continued on as though there'd never been an interruption in the first place. "I only _saved_ you to make getting revenge on these dis_gusting_ Krakewhatevers easier!"

The teen raised an eyebrow at this declaration. "You went through a disturbing amount of trouble just to get my help, then. You sure you weren't just _worried_, oh Superior Irken Soldier?" Dib teased.

Zim opened his mouth to screech about how he shouldn't be interrupted, paused for a double-take, and ended up just making a severely offended noise. "The almighty _Zim_? _Worried_ about _you_? Don't _flatter_ yourself, pig-smelly! _ZIM_ just has a use for your pitiful self – what use have _you_ for a drooly worm-smeet?"

"Er…no use, really. But I was…worried about her safety. Unlike you, though, I can admit that," Dib responded, rolling his eyes again.

"It's-" ('_She_,' Dib corrected here.) "-yes, _fine_, _she's_ probably going to die, anyway," the Irken stated blandly, completely uncaring. "Too much smoke in the air is bad enough for a human of _your_ stature – I can only imagine it would be twice as bad for a child. Perhaps three times as bad for _this_ tiny little meat-lump." As his human companion looked quickly to the child in his arms, alarmed, Zim only gave it one small disparaging glance. "Even if it – _she_ – does survive, she'd probably be _incredibly_ short. So tiny already…she might as well just die." He shrugged; either way, it didn't matter to him.

Dib scowled at him and sped up his pace, stalking past the Irken and towards a doorway at the very back – it was cooler here, near the dairy storage and warehouse-like shipping areas (and the outside, where they could finally – _finally_ – be safe from the fire) just beyond the thick clear strips covering the exit as a makeshift door. The cooler air was almost icy against his skin, so used now to the sweltering heat from the blaze behind him.

Ducking past the clear strips of the 'door' with some difficulty – they were slightly heavy, and his arms were tied up with the child – he paused; partly to let Zim catch up, but mostly to do something to help the child. Shifting the infant to hold her carefully against him with one arm, his free hand pulled off the atmospheric mask; the air was somewhat clearer here, though not by much. Either way, the baby needed the pure, filtered air more than he did.

The Irken marched in imperiously hardly a moment later, all glares and scowls at being left behind, even if only by a little. "Zim was only stating the truth," he huffed. "No need to get all _emotional_ about it." He was clear to stress the 'emotional' bit, as though it was some sort of horrible disease. (Which, to him, it probably was.)

"She's _not_ going to die," Dib snapped at him, holding the filtering mask against the baby's face – she fussed at the sensation, but her wails began to diminish, soon becoming nothing more than whimpers and the occasional hiccup.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," the Irken replied dully, shrugging again and shuffling towards the various shipping doors, several of them open to admit a range of vehicles, from eighteen-wheelers to smaller vans, all of which were silent and empty. The droids hadn't failed to give this area a run-through, either, he noted with distaste, stepping around each dark puddle and unnamed corpse to squint up at the open door nearest to them – his far superior eyes were quick to adjust to the sudden onslaught of sunlight, of course.

Hearing his companion following after him, Zim glanced back, one antenna flicking in some unclear gesture. "She'll still be short, though," he added, if only for the sake of being difficult.

Initially, the teen only raised an eyebrow, a clear downturn to one side of his mouth. Then, Dib simply shook his head. "One would think you've never seen a baby before," he muttered, falling into step with the Irken once more. "She's tiny now, but she'll grow."

Zim was silent for a rare moment, the dark look on his face just _daring_ the other boy to add what he figured he was going to add – and he _did_ add it.

"She'll probably be taller than you before she even turns twelve."

It was by sheer luck alone that Dib managed to not drop the infant when the Irken punched him in the arm as hard as he possibly could.

Which, to Dib's great amusement, really wasn't that hard at all.

* * *

I've always found it strange when other authors write Zim (and other such Irkens) as being incredibly powerful physically. Sure, they're soldiers (or at least, _most _of them are), but they're just so _reliant _on their technology. Not to mention that most of them are just plain _tiny_. I honestly think they wouldn't be all that physically strong. In fact...I can't really recall any specific point in the show where an Irken showed any great sign of physical prowess. ...So...yeah. There's my two cents on that.

(Irken minus technology equals weak and pathetic midget?)

...Er...anyway, next chapter will probably be up in about a week or so. Just have to add a few slight modifications to take into account something I forgot because I'm ST00PID. 8D


	11. In which awkwardness is avoided

AND YOU THOUGHT CHAPTER NINE WAS LONG!

Ha, I sure fooled you.

And wow, I sure took freakin' forever to update this thing. I place the blame entirely on...my mom, cuz I blame her for everything. Especially rising gas prices. _GAWD_, MOM!

As for the issue of Zim's physical strength and his flipping over a fat lady, I chalk that up to the effects of adrenaline brought about by his being recognized as an alien. I also chalk the issue up to my forgetting things. And also because of my mom. Seriously, Mom. You're pissing me off.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven – In which awkwardness is avoided**

"If you'd been any slower, that would've been us," Zim was clear to state – behind them, just a few blocks away, ink-black smoke streamed into the air. The vehicles in the shipping area had fallen prey to the flames in a most impressive manner – the entire back end of the store had gone up in an immense fireball; even from their distance, the two had still felt the wave of heat and the tremors beneath their feet (the Irken would never admit that he'd tripped and fallen flat on his face), though they were fortunate to have ventured far enough to avoid the debris sent raining down around the area.

The utter noise of the blast had set the baby off crying again, however, and thus, Dib didn't bother responding to the alien's complaints – even a good ten minutes after the near-deafening sound, he still hadn't managed to calm her down, and no amount of rocking and cooing seemed to remedy the problem. Zim, unsurprisingly, didn't bother to offer any help – he only scowled at the infant and edged farther away to a less painful distance, leaving a good ten feet of space between himself and the humans.

The teen cast a weary glance to his companion from his spot on an upturned and empty garbage can – they'd taken refuge for the moment in a small alley, wedged between two equally small and empty houses, in order to get in a little bit of rest. The Irken, of course, refused to sit on anything in a 'filthy human alley', and thus simply stood around looking extremely grumpy, arms crossed and antennae flattened in displeasure. "I have _no_ idea what to do with her," Dib admitted. "I don't _think_ she needs a diaper change, so…uh…do you think she's hungry or something?"

"Why are you asking _me_?" Zim exclaimed, meeting the weary glance with a look of complete disbelief. "Yes, Zim is incredible and all, but there are some things I simply will _not_ waste my genius on – caring for stinky _hyuuman_ smeets is _definitely_ one of those things."

"Oh, _come on_, Zim! I _know_ you tried using orphans to take over Earth once, and you spent like…three _weeks_ in the program to do it – remember? Simon Says? _That_ stupid plan – the one I foiled in all of ten minutes?"

The Irken glanced up, tongue poking out. He _did_ seem to remember something along those lines, though in his mind, it had been some kind of great success. Making his rival clean up mounds upon mounds of Earth-larvae dookie? Mmmyep – that _had_ to be success. Very _smelly_ success. "Ah, yes. _That_. …The bee suits were rather nice."

Dib started to give a sour retort, then paused unsurely when he realized that Zim's reply hadn't been an insult – he'd been expecting one, really. "…Oh, yeah; they were nice, weren't they?" he agreed, albeit hesitantly, and with a decent helping of confusion evident in his tone.

There was a length of silence, in which they both considered those bee suits and how nice they'd really been – all fuzzy and warm, and kind of adorable when worn by an elementary school child or an alien of elementary school child size. (Either one clearly remembered the other looking simply ridiculous, however.)

Then, the baby's cries and flails escalated to where she was basically just screaming endlessly (one wondered exactly how she drew breath) and whacking Dib repeatedly in the chest (and sometimes the face), and the teen lifted her towards the Irken helplessly. "So…what do you think? Hungry, needing diaper change, _what_?"

Recoiling away from the fussy child, Zim glared at her for a moment before directing a thoroughly exasperated look at his companion. "Scared, more likely. Any smeet would be, if they had to look at _your_ enormous head for so long," the Irken stated mildly.

"Zim, I'm _trying_ to be serious!" Dib spat, bouncing the infant lightly in a laughable mockery of what he'd seen mothers do – it only added what would have been an amusing warble to the baby's cry if said cry hadn't been as ear-piercing as it was.

"You think Zim _wasn't_ being serious?" the Irken responded, blinking owlishly and trying to appear surprised. When the human only glared at him, already quite irritated that his attempt at calming a baby (something he'd always thought to be a simple matter) was failing miserably, Zim gave a little shrug. "She's probably tired. From what I can gather of your human habits, movement isn't entirely conducive to sleep, and we've been doing a _lot_ of moving."

There was another length of silence, in which Dib stared at his companion in a mix of outright shock and disbelief.  
Zim stared back, somewhat unnerved, before prompting sharply, "_What_?"

"That's probably the most sense I've ever heard you say in a single sentence," the teen responded hesitantly. "…You _are_ Zim, right?"

"Of _course_ I am ZIM!" Zim snapped in the most Zim-like fashion he could (he _was_ Zim, after all).

Dib raised an eyebrow, then replied dully, "Well, I guess that settles that." The Irken quirked an antenna, but didn't say anything more, only watched him quizzically before huffing and turning to glare at some random object on the ground as though it had personally offended him. Now that his companion was silent, Dib lowered his gaze to the crying infant in his arms, his mind wandering. He'd saved the child, sure, but it probably hadn't done much good in the end – how was he supposed to take care of her when he had little to no idea what he was doing?

Then, another stray thought got him wondering. Wasn't there someone else he was supposed to have saved, too? Aside from…everyone else, that is. The teen's brows furrowed for a moment before his eyes widened and he turned sharply to Zim. "_GAZ_!"

The Irken glanced back to him, frowning. "What about her?"

"I can't believe I forgot – I… _Wow_, I'm stupid!" Dib exclaimed (ignoring Zim's automatic nod of agreement at the last part of his statement) before getting up, all in a hurry. "Knowing her, she probably left me behind when I was taking too long shopping – bet she showed some of those aliens a thing or two." He managed a chuckle, though it sounded somewhat forced. "She's probably at home, I have to-"

"No."

The teen trailed off, unsure for just a moment. "_No_?" he echoed indignantly. "What do you mean, _no_?"

Zim watched him for a moment before shrugging lightly with an unconcerned noise. "She won't be there. So…no. We should find shelter, get the dirt-smeet to a place where she can sleep and be _silent_ so we won't be discovered."

"Why _wouldn't_ Gaz be at home?!" Dib snapped, not liking the vague reply.

The Irken scowled at him. "Well, it _should_ be obvious, but then again, you've always been exceptionally stupid. Does Zim _really_ have to spell it out?"

"Shut up! Do you really think I'm going to fall for this? Honestly, Zim – she's _Gaz_, a full-scale alien invasion would only be a minor _inconvenience_ to her!" the teen spat, storming past him – the infant in his arms squirmed wildly, further frightened by the sudden movement and harsh tones. "If you're trying to be funny, find something _else_ to joke about, _jerk_. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to go find my sister."

A few quick strides and Zim had snatched the collar of Dib's trenchcoat, yanking him back into the alley and shoving him roughly down on his initial resting spot – the garbage can almost tipped over at the treatment. "NO," the Irken reiterated sharply, leaning into the other's face and giving his very best death-glare. "_ZIM_ does not make jokes." He paused, glanced skyward for a moment, then corrected himself. "In this situation. In other situations, Zim is a master of comedy. Yes. But I assure you, Dib-thing, right now I am _not_, as you said, 'trying to be funny', and I am most definitely _not_ joking."

Silence met his statement, Dib staring up at him helplessly as he struggled to convey thought into words, arms tightening around the crying infant as though she were a lifeline. "You…you're lying. Gaz wouldn't…she's… She's…_Gaz_. She _can't_ be gone!"

"Gaz or not, she was still a smelly _human_, and no amount of creepy abilities can make up for that," Zim responded, looking rather exasperated that he needed to convey such an obvious fact. "Deny it all you want, Dib-smell, but the truth of the matter's been burned into my PAK's data drives. Don't make me have to show it – I will if you won't be silent!"

The warning had Dib gaping at the alien, shocked. Questions raced through his mind, though only a certain few stood out amongst the others – had Zim really found her? Would he lie about something like that? Could his PAK fake such an image, if he did show it? _Would_ he show it?

It was the last thought that silenced the others – the Irken _would_, if he had to. There wasn't a doubt in his mind. And whether or not the image would be real, Dib didn't want to see it; regardless of how badly he and his sister got along – used to get along? – she was still his sister; he didn't know if he could handle something like that. "…Don't," he muttered, averting his eyes, as though the other would bring the image out at any given time.

"Your sibling-unit will not be at home," Zim repeated firmly, straightening and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, okay…I get it. …So she really is…gone, then." The only reply was a single small, affirmative noise. The teen stared down at the baby, expression lost, before he glanced back up at his companion – the alien seemed completely unfazed, and was simply examining him, a curious lift to his antennae. Zim was expecting a reaction; some sign of weakness, something to mock, perhaps. Dib bit at his lip, forcing back grief and tears – he refused to give the other the satisfaction of watching him break down – and simply mumbled lowly, "I see."

Antennae perked further, and the Irken was silent for a moment before humming lightly – somewhat disappointed, yet at the same time, grudgingly respectful. The loss of a littermate was a heavy one indeed, yet the boy stayed strong, just as he'd expected. A quiet mutter came from his companion, a barely-heard question regarding his father, and all Zim could do at first was shrug; the Professor was a different matter altogether – he saw the man even less than Dib himself, and he _certainly_ hadn't seen his body anywhere on the supermarket tiles. "Your parental unit most likely shared a similar fate. Perhaps, that is. If nothing else, you can assume he got lucky – hope does nothing for a superior Irken such as myself, but it seems to be good for you _hyuumans_."

There was no reply from Dib, no assurance that he'd even been listening beyond the first sentence – the sentence he hadn't wanted to hear – which only had the Irken feeling less and less in his element. Survival training back in the Academy had certainly never been like _this_; there'd been far fewer aliens and their emotional luggage-bags to drag along. And sure, learning to stay alive while still blowing stuff up was all very well and good, but survival was a basic instinct to begin with – why didn't they cover the actually _useful_ stuff?!

The near-silence bearing down on them, full of an odd discomforting feeling Zim was far from used to, only made it that much worse – what was he supposed to _do_ about this?

Finally, after a good deal of deliberation, he edged back against the wall next to Dib, PAK to the brick behind him, and patted the boy's shoulder in what might have been a comforting gesture – he withdrew his hand quickly, however, as though burned. "Hero complex or not, you can't save everyone," Zim stated with another little shrug.

Dib only gave a noncommittal grunt in reply, not trusting himself to speak. His gaze returned to the infant, who seemed to have cried herself out now that the excessive motions and angry voices had ceased – she gave a feeble warble here and there, however, and squirmed restlessly. The teen wiped the streaks of tears off of her small face with one corner of her blanket, distracting himself from his thoughts and trying to ignore the Irken hovering nearby.

Wide dark eyes stared back up at him, and the infant hiccuped, tiny hands clutching for the teen's much larger one. He managed a slight upturn of his mouth, a makeshift smile, and let her do as she pleased – from his right, Zim gave a disgusted noise when the baby apparently figured that Dib's knuckles might be a nice tasty snack to suck on.

"She's revolting," the Irken decided.

"She's cute. I like her," Dib grumbled, too exhausted – both mentally and physically – to bother snapping at the Irken, and not wanting to upset the child anyway.

Zim leaned in close once again, scrutinizing the infant for a moment. "She's not a furry little creature like the Peepi-monster was. How is she 'cute' if she has only the usual amount of human fur?" The Irken poked one claw at her thin, feathery black hair, curling one lock around the finger curiously before drawing his hand back, scowling in the way he often did when he didn't understand something.

The teen gave him a bland look. "Fur doesn't automatically mean something's cute," he informed the alien wearily.

"Her coloring is strange, too." An ironic comment, indeed.

"She's just tan – probably of Filipino descent," Dib sighed. "If she were…oh, I don't know…_green_, then I'd have to agree with you." Zim frowned, and was obviously about to snap something when the human cut in swiftly, "So, how about that shelter idea?"

Zim blinked, straightened up, and looked around for a moment before glancing back to Dib, one antenna quirked. "Pick a house, any house," he replied with a lopsided grin, waving a hand about to the surrounding buildings. "Preferably one that looks like it won't crumble to pieces while we rest."

Moments later, a house had been chosen and a window smashed, and once again, the baby started fussing. And so, the very first thing Dib did when they snuck inside was collapse on the couch, giving an exhausted groan as the infant wriggled and cried on his lap. "What am I gonna do with you?" he sighed, staring down at her uncertainly.

The Irken glanced up at him, one brow ridge raising slightly at the teen's useless questioning of a larva that couldn't yet answer, from his spot on a nearby armchair (which he'd meticulously glared at for a good while until he'd decided it was both sanitary and comfortable enough for his tastes). The seat completely dwarfed the alien, Dib might've been amused to note had he not been preoccupied with a baby who seemed to be making it her very first priority to be as difficult as infantly possible.

"There's no way any of us will get rest if she keeps going on like this…" Dib ran one hand through his hair, grimacing when it snagged at a few tangles, and looked up to meet his companion's gaze. "Mothers made it look so easy, I swear."

Zim only gave a little scoff in reply before seeming to consider something – whatever it was, the disgruntled look on his face suggested it wasn't something he thought to be entirely pleasant. Then, he outstretched both hands, claw-like fingers wiggling a bit. "Let Zim try," he demanded then.

The teen's eyes widened to an almost impossible size, and he only gaped for a few moments before exclaiming, "No way! You'll just drop her!"

"Oh, Zim will _not_! She's not doing any better with _your_ pathetic attempts, anyway – she _clearly_ requires superior Irken coddling-techniques!"

Dib, a tad unnerved, pulled the infant against his chest defensively. "Do Irkens even _have_ coddling techniques?" he asked hesitantly.

The Irken tilted his head a bit, silent for a moment before shrugging. "Mmm…no. Er… Well… Not _yet_! But such coddling techniques the amazing ZIM shall invent! _YES_!" He leapt to his feet, the armchair beneath him squeaking lightly as he wobbled off-balance. As soon as he stabilized himself, Zim thrust one hand up dramatically, a finger pointed towards the ceiling. "They will be the most incredible coddling techniques _ever_! And soon, no Earthen baby will be able to resist the almighty ZIM-coddles, and the planet will fall with the help of their own smelly offspring – _it's_ _ingenious_!" the alien shrieked gleefully.

"Uh…" Dib raised an eyebrow, unsure if the other was joking or not. "…In case you hadn't noticed, the Earth has kinda…already been taken over. ...Just so you know."

Antennae perked up sharply before flattening low in a defiant gesture, Zim glaring metaphorical daggers. The boy's unimpressed look at the show had him sinking back down into the armchair, seeming to be more of a sulky child than a trained invader. After a while of just scowling at the human across from him, Zim outstretched his hands again. "Give to Zim," he insisted moodily.

The teen glanced from the Irken to the baby in his arms, then back to the Irken. "You won't drop her?"

"_No_," Zim spat, antennae flattening further in aggravation as he wiggled his fingers expectantly. "_Give_." Dib directed a flat look at him and didn't reply, much less move, so the Irken took it in himself to stalk over, plop down next to him, and reach for the child – only to receive a good swatting to the backs of his hands. Stunned, he jerked them away, eyes wide as he stared up at the teen incredulously. That had _hurt_!

Before Zim had the presence of mind to say or do something horrible, Dib sighed. "Fine. You can hold her, okay? Just…be careful. Promise?"

Getting what he wanted distracted the Irken from the sting in his hands, and he nodded emphatically – he gave a wince when his arms were subsequently filled with a surprisingly weighty infant, and only barely managed to not drop her when Dib corrected his grip and actually _touched_ him to help him do so. Such inferiority on his amazing self!

"No, no – move your other arm _under_ her, and make sure her head is supported," Dib instructed, Zim only complying so the teen would let go of him. "All right, seems good…"

"She's very squirmy. And…drooly," the Irken muttered, frowning down at the child, who had ceased bawling if only to stare up at the strange new face, fascinated. How green it was!

Dib rolled his eyes at the comment before leaning back, trying to find a more comfortable position. "Mmhmm. Now, how about you make with the 'superior Irken coddling' so we can all get some rest?"

"She stopped crying," Zim huffed, looking somewhat pleased with himself at the accomplishment. "That should be enough, yes?"

"Uh…sure, if you ignore the fact that she's still awake and could start crying again at any moment," Dib replied disdainfully – the Irken probably would've shoved him for the tone he was using at any other time.

"So she needs to be asleep, then. …Aren't humans supposed to sleep in beds or something?"

"Humans can sleep pretty much anywhere, Zim," Dib responded, not at all surprised that the other hadn't already known this.  
The Irken gave a little hum in reply, something that had the teen wondering if he was even listening. "I see. But…if there is a bed here, then you and the larva could sleep in it, yes?"

"I am _not_ going to sleep in someone else's bed. That's just weird."

"I don't think they'd mind," Zim stated, the hand that wasn't supporting the infant poking lightly at her forehead – her eyes went somewhat cross-eyed at the action as she tried to focus on the gloved finger. "They're dead anyway, right?"

"And that's another reason I'm not going to sleep in their bed," Dib replied flatly. "It's called 'respect', Zim. I'm staying on the couch." To emphasize this point, he shifted to a more comfortable position, leaning his head against the armrest and closing his eyes. "Try to get the baby to sleep, will you?"

Zim shrugged a bit – a rather useless gesture, considering. "How?"

"Huh? …Oh, uh… I dunno, just…rock her a little, hum something, make her comfortable… That kind of stuff, I guess," the teen mumbled.

Not entirely helpful, the Irken noted sourly, though he didn't bother mentioning it – if Dib was trying to sleep, that meant he'd finally be quiet, and Zim wasn't about to pass up an opportunity like _that_ by being a smartass. Thus, he stared down at the baby, brows furrowed as he considered the 'advice' the boy had given him. She seemed comfortable enough, yet here she was, meeting his gaze blankly and drooling away to beat the band. He knew enough about humans (that is, _a lot_…or more accurately, _everything_) to know that that _definitely_ didn't qualify as sleeping.

Deciding to simply combine the bits of advice into a single incredible sleep-inducer (and prove just how amazing he was at everything), the Irken gently swayed the child in a mimicry of what he'd seen Dib do earlier, humming a lighthearted melody he'd heard various times from human broadcasting as he did – it wasn't an altogether pretty sound, but it didn't grate on the ears either, and he could at least carry a tune. All in all, it was…_vaguely_ soothing.

The infant watched him silently, eyelids drooping somewhat – she was already exhausted from the day's events, and despite the fact that the strange twitchy black things on the green stranger's head were just _begging_ to be pulled on, she slowly began to drift off.

Nearby, Dib gave a light murmur at the sound and curled up a bit, finding himself oddly calmed. "S'good, Z'm…" he managed to mumble.

Zim quirked an antenna at what had almost sounded like complete and utter gibberish, but was quick to forget about it – the baby was just about asleep, and the lack of energy was starting to take its toll on him, too. He might as well get a bit of rest in, he concluded as he softly crooned a few more lines.

_As your bright and tiny spark – lights the traveler in the dark – though I know not what you are – twinkle, twinkle, little star…_

It was a rather silly song, he decided.

* * *

Strong fingers curled around his trenchcoat collar, yanking him close – Dib grimaced at the stench of breath from rotting lungs, tried uselessly to pull the other's hands away. "_You left me behind_," it hissed, eyes dark and empty.

"I didn't mean to! I'm sorry!"

Dark liquid dripped from rancid flesh, and what was once his sister screeched in his face, teeth razor-sharp and hellfire seeming to burst from her very person. "_YOU LEFT ME!_ _TO SAVE YOUR OWN SORRY HIDE!_" Shuddering, Dib was silent, nausea settling in the pit of his stomach as the creature before him twisted its gaping mouth into what might've been a grin. "_I hope you die. If you do…__I'll__ be waiting for you. You'll __pay__, Dib_."

"Please, I…I didn't… I wanted to help you!" Dib tried, struggling to get her to see reason – he had no idea why. She'd never bothered to see reason before. Why would she have to start now? She was _dead_ – she had no use for such petty things as _reason_ anymore.

The thing screamed wordlessly at him, throwing him down to a ground of nothingness as flesh slid away from bone, demonic flames licking at what was left – (admittedly, the last bit might have been more frightening if he hadn't already seen her do it a thousand times) – before a sudden _bang_ had the image fading and the teen rudely forced back into the waking world.

Dib grumbled sleepily as he cracked open one eye and stared across the room – a tiny cat, coat scraggy and messed with dirt, stared back at him innocently, perched on a shelf above the armchair the Irken had abandoned earlier. It had apparently jumped up and knocked off what knick-knacks had been set there. "Go on, shoo," he muttered, waving an arm in a bid to scare the creature off – he realized suddenly that the other arm seemed to be occupied.

Or rather, being slept on.

"…Oh, _geez_," Dib groaned, fighting back the urge to just shove the Irken off. Zim had apparently fallen asleep some time after him, and had slipped from his earlier sitting position to end up nestled against the teen's side, infant still curled comfortably in his arms. It was something the alien would have certainly ranted and complained about had he woken up first.

Better avoid that – it would make things much more simple.

It took some doing to get the Irken off of him without waking him up, but he managed, still feeling incredibly discomfited at the fact that his rival had been practically cuddled up against him while they slept. He could already feel goosebumps on the side Zim had been sleeping on.

He also distinctly felt a wet spot, and gave a disgusted sound. Alien spit. _Gross_.

After frowning down at the sleeping alien for a moment, Dib sighed harshly and shook his shoulder. "Hey. Hey, Zim." The Irken gave a little whine, but didn't wake up, only curled closer to the baby. Rolling his eyes, the teen shook him again, a bit more forceful - he ignored the low growl from the other. "Zim, _wake up_!"

Dib barely managed to dodge the resulting fist swung at him by a grumpy alien – clearly, Zim was not a morning person.

* * *

I bet the imagery of Zim accidentally cuddling up to his worst enemy while they're both asleep made some fangirls scream 'kawaii' in an extremely obnoxious fashion. Or it just made them vomit. Either works, really. ...Actually, to be honest, I'd prefer the second option. HERE'S TO YOU, WAPANESE-SPEAKERS! (Insert _le middle finger _here.)

...Anyway...moving on.

I'd imagine that Zim would be a vaguely decent singer, if only in terms of being able to carry a tune - he's hummed a bit in the show, so...yeah. Also, I stand by my previously unmentioned thought that Irkens _can _sleep, but will generally only do so when low on energy (and perhaps when extremely bored). Certainly after all the insanity of the past chapters with little to no rest in between, Zim's running pretty low. (We should all know Irkens can sleep anyway - intro to the original pilot, anyone? ...Oh right, only super-obsessed nerds watched that. Meaning all of about...ten people.)

I have a strange feeling that chapters will continue to get longer, to the point of where they put Long-Cat to shame.

...Except for the next chapter. ...That one feels like it's going to be short. Shorter than the average Irken, or perhaps a midget. Or maybe a dwarf! _Or a hobbit, even_! (Okay, I admit it, I actually don't know if a hobbit is shorter than a dwarf or not. I'm not that much of a nerd yet. I _do_, however, know that the meaning of life is 42. Sorry, guys.)

But...yeah. Long chapters, except for the next one.

_STRANGE, ISN'T IT?!_

I have no idea when the next chapter will be up, though. ...Probably in about a week.

...I have this..._strange feeling_.

I should probably go see a doctor.


	12. In which differences are set aside

My doctor told me that the strange feeling was a head cold. Know what that means?

...

THIS CHAPTER'S LOOOONG!

(It's also out right after chapter eleven to make up for my mom! IT'S ALWAYS HER FAULT.)

* * *

**Chapter Twelve – In which differences are set aside**

"You didn't have to hit me, you know," Dib muttered sourly, glaring over at the Irken over a cup of instant coffee (which he'd been rather reluctant to make in a deceased someone's kitchen before he was told rather bluntly that he was being ridiculous). Upon being woken up, and realizing that his initial attempt to punch the teen had failed, Zim had made it a point to correct the mistake.

A fist to the jaw can never really be all too pleasant, no matter _how _physically weak the aggressor happens to be.

The Irken only scowled back, sitting curled up in the armchair from before with the infant rested in his lap – so involved in being hateful towards Dib as he was, he didn't seem to notice that she was awake and drooling all over the front of his uniform. Even if he did, he probably wouldn't have cared; there was worse stuff soaked into the ruined outfit, anyway.

After a length of simply glaring at each other, Zim stated icily, "You're stupid, and your head is fat."

"And yet you saved me, anyway. Who's _really_ the stupid one, here?" Dib retorted, resisting the urge to simply toss his coffee at the alien. It was pretty good coffee – why waste it?

"You dare question _Zim's_ intelligence?!"

"Yes, I-!" Dib slapped a hand to his forehead, groaning irritably before snapping, "Look, this isn't getting us anywhere! As much as we're going to hate it, we're going to have to work _together_!"

The Irken stuck his tongue out in a most impressive display of maturity.

"…Yeah, okay, you're a mentally adolescent jerk, I _get it_. And I can _deal_ with that if it means we can get out of this _alive_." Dib sighed harshly when his only reply was a bored frown. "…Is _any_ of this making it through to you?"

Zim slouched a bit in his seat, fiddling with the baby's blanket as he met the teen's gaze grumpily. Then, he replied blandly, "You're _stupid_."

For a moment, the paranormalist only raised an eyebrow. "…And?"

"You're _stupid_. And…Zim can handle this, yes." The Irken growled and made a vaguely frustrated gesture with one hand (the other was currently trying to escape the infant's surprisingly strong grip). "Zim has been handling your _stupidness_ for years now! It is of no real _problem_ – not with _my_ ingenious brainmeats making up for your _lack_ of them."

"Brainmeats, _right_. Well, everyone who might have survived knows I was right all along, so lack of 'brainmeats' or not, at least I wasn't beaten to _my_ goal by a supposedly 'inferior' species," Dib scoffed.

Zim leapt to his feet, fury blazing suddenly in his expression and eyes narrowing to thin red slits – the baby squirmed slightly in discomfort as the Irken's arms tightened around her. "You _filthy_ little-! For all you know, I could have been planning this all along!" the alien spat, shuddering with suppressed rage as he advanced on the teen.

Hastily setting the coffee aside in case the Irken decided to just outright attack him, Dib got to his feet as well. He'd learned early on the effects height could have on an Irken, and despite Zim's recent height increase (clearly artificially induced by something of the alien's own design, seeing as how it had happened over the course of a single week), the boy was still a good head and a half taller. Needless to say, he made use of each and every inch he had over his rival.

Antennae flattened for only the slightest second before Zim pressed forward, getting as much in the teen's face as he could manage and simply _glaring_ with all his might. "What do you say to that, _Dib_?" he hissed, jabbing one claw roughly against Dib's chest.

"I'd say…you're about to drop the baby," the human noted dully.

Indignant, the Irken quickly corrected this, hugging her a bit too tightly to his chest and getting a displeased whine from her that he pointedly ignored. "_Answer_ Zim," he demanded.

"If you'd planned it all along, you wouldn't _be_ here," Dib responded wearily. "I know you better than that, anyway – you'd rather have the credit all to yourself. Why hire something inferior to do the job for you? And why go through the trouble of _finding_ me even if you did?"

Zim bit at his lower lip, staring down at the infant – he vaguely realized that she seemed to be having difficulty breathing, and finally loosened his grip – then frowned back up at Dib. "I hate it when you're not stupid."

"I know."

"Zim _knows_ you know," the Irken huffed, tone heavy with scorn.

Figuring that the worst part of Zim's tantrum was over, Dib picked his coffee back up, taking a small sip and making a face. It was starting to get cold. "Eugh…" he spluttered, setting it aside once again and deciding he was better off without it – he then forgot all about it, leaving it to most likely sit on the nondescript end table for a few decades until it got to a point where it would start attempting communication.

It was fortunate, however, that he'd set it down, because the last thing he'd been expecting – now that the Irken was starting to do something vaguely akin to calming down – was a kick to the shin. After a pained yelp, and Zim giggling madly as Dib hopped about in a most absurd fashion, the teen cursed himself for chasing his rival all over the place for the past few years; it had assured that the alien had decently strong legs conducive to kicking irritating people in their shins and having it actually _hurt_.

"What was _that_ for?!" Dib exclaimed, rubbing at the sore spot.

Zim tilted his head up haughtily, smirking at the other in a most obnoxious fashion. "Does Zim need a reason? You should be honored I'd even _consider_ touching you."

"Says the alien I found snuggling up to me," the teen grumbled under his breath. Zim squinted at him, one antenna quirking.

"Ehh? What was that?"

"Nothing," Dib replied hastily, taking care to change the subject. "You've got drool on your uniform."

The Irken gave a slight eyeroll. "And various kinds of blood, dirt, and other such _filth_. Doesn't really matter at this point." He scowled then, plopping down on the couch and curling around the infant, as though she was some sort of comfort object to make his sulking a little less pathetic (while in reality, it only made it more so).

A slightly awkward silence settled throughout the room before Dib sighed, joining the other on the couch. "…Sorry."

Zim looked up sharply, eyes wide and antennae raised as high as they could go. "What?"

"I'm _sorry_," Dib repeated, frowning. "I shouldn't have brought it up, it was stupid."

"Wh… The drool?" the Irken questioned, narrowing one eye in bemusement.

For a moment the teen was silent before managing a weak chuckle. "Uh…sure. Yeah. Among other things. If we're going to get through this, we should at least avoid sensitive topics, or else we'll constantly be at each other's throats and not get anything done. I…wasn't exactly following my own advice." Zim nodded a bit, but didn't offer any input – the infant had decided to wiggle out of her blankets and was crawling across the couch, which was apparently much more interesting to the Irken than Dib's usual rambling. "So, uh…think you can handle a 'stupid stinky human' for the time being?"

Crimson eyes didn't so much as budge from the baby, only narrowed slightly in disdain at the question. "You forgot 'disrespectful', Dib-pig."

"…_Fine_, a 'stupid stinky _disrespectful_ human'. Can you handle that?" Dib asked flatly.

Zim gave an unconcerned shrug. "Yeah, sure, whatever."

"Good," the teen responded. "And I can handle you being a hugely rude and egotistical alien psychopath. …I hope. So now that we've gotten that out of the way, any concerns you have or anything? Before we start thinking of an actual plan to stay alive?"

Seeming to think about the question as he snagged the edge of the baby's diaper to pull her back (she'd been about to figure out if crawling off the couch would hurt), Zim glanced over at his rival. "I don't think Zim can handle having to stare at your gargantuan head for much longer."

Dib groaned irritably and ran his hands through his hair in frustration, resting his elbows on his knees and grumbling, "We're gonna drive each other crazy…"

An affirmative hum from the Irken had the teen turning his head in his hands and frowning at him some more – Zim mimicked the almost desolate posture down to the expression, though he exaggerated the latter to where it was clear he was mocking him.

"Stop that," Dib stated dully, half-heartedly glaring at him.

"No. You're being… What was the word…? …Ah, yes. You're being _emo_," Zim replied, an amused grin winning out over the mock-frown.

"I am _not_."

The Irken snickered. "You _so_ are. Cheer up, emo thing."

"I am _not_ being emo!" Dib exclaimed, abruptly sitting up to where it didn't look like he was moping and feeling sorry for himself (and all that other teen angst nonsense). "Right, you see? Once again, we're getting absolutely _nowhere_."

"Might help if we'd think of some kind of plan," Zim stated offhandedly, turning away from the human to pluck the infant off the far armrest, amusing himself by making her 'dance'. The action had her giving a gleeful little squeal, clinging to the Irken's fingers and giggling. The alien blinked. "Oh, hey, she _is _kinda cute."

One eye twitched as Dib glared at his companion. "You do realize I've suggested making a plan already, right? …Actually, I think I might have suggested it _twice_."

"Nah, only once," Zim corrected, antennae quirked and a lopsided grin spreading on his face as the infant cheerfully bounced from foot to foot in an odd little baby-dance, still clutching his hands and babbling nonsense words. "Huh – she's like GIR, only not…endlessly obnoxious. I didn't think that was possible."

Resting his chin in his hand, the teen grunted blandly in reply, somewhat unnerved by how easily the child had taken to the genocidal invader. Even more so by the fact that Zim didn't seem to mind her, either. "Yeeeah… Where is GIR, anyway?" he asked, if only to distract him from the odd scene before him (it didn't work quite as well as he would have hoped).

The Irken shrugged, casually replying, "Probably blew up with the rest of the base. Bet it just _delighted_ him, too." The sheer bluntness of it had Dib recoiling, eyes wide.

"Your _base_-?!" The boy didn't even bother to finish the exclamation – it was obvious, really. If Zim's base hadn't been destroyed, he might not have even _bothered_ to go looking for Dib – he'd probably be out in his Voot Runner, blasting at enemy mechs in a suicidal attempt at getting revenge. Instead, he focused on the other thing that was bothering him about Zim's statement. "Don't you _care_ that GIR might have been destroyed?"

Silence met his statement, Zim pursing his lips as he thought. "Mmm…not really. He was annoying. …And useless." Before Dib could ask why the Irken even kept the robot, his question was being answered. "The only reason I kept him around was because the Tallests specially made him – for Zim and Zim alone."

That on its own was enough for Dib to figure that – no, despite their past training together, the Tallests definitely did _not_ consider Zim to be their friend. Surely if they did, GIR would have been different (unless giving away retarded robots was an Irken way of showing friendship, which he sincerely doubted). Yet Zim kept the SIR unit anyway – on some level he knew, yet he continued blatantly ignoring the fact that they most likely hated him in his usual fashion; simple ignorance, blind faith in his leaders, and shielding himself with his own gigantic ego. It was pathetic, and…almost depressing. …_Almost_.

He wasn't about to mention any of this to Zim, of course – the Irken would only deny it, and as an added bonus, probably kick him again. Personally, Dib preferred pain-free shins, so he merely shrugged and nodded. "But…you aren't upset that a gift from your leaders was destroyed?"

"It happens," Zim replied simply, leveling a bland look at his rival. "Things are destroyed – things die – all the time. No point in dwelling on it. It's stupid. Makes people crazy." Coming from the invader, that was _really_ something.

"I guess…" The teen had a feeling that the Irken was trying to imply something else with his statement, and he fidgeted a bit, staring down at his hands and frowning. "It's kind of strange that Gaz's death isn't really… Well, I mean, it's _important_, she was my sister and all, but…" He trailed off uncertainly, lifting his gaze back to Zim.

Speaking of Zim, he looked rather confused. "And…_where_ is this coming from all of a sudden?" the Irken asked hesitantly, antennae quirking a bit.

Dib immediately assumed a similar expression of confusion. "You weren't implying that I should just get over her being dead?"

"Mmmm…no. Good idea, though. You might want to try that." Zim nodded before returning his attention to the baby, swaying her to and fro and snickering a bit when she swayed off-balance and fell; she didn't seem to mind, as the couch was a nice soft thing to land on. As he poked at the infant's belly-button curiously, he continued, "Zim never liked her – all bratty and…_ugh_. You had good taste there, at least; you never seemed to like her, either."

The boy winced a bit, averting his eyes. "That's…normal for siblings. I think."

"Ah, so Zim is right, as usual! Well, if you don't like her, then it should be a simple matter for you to get over it, yes?"

"_No_, Zim. She was…family. I just…" Dib ruffled at his hair uncertainly, feeling further ill at ease when he remembered the nightmare from before. It was only a dream, certainly, but an unnerving one nonetheless. Gaz had threatened him similarly plenty of times before, and for much _lesser_ things.

"You just…don't like her," Zim finished for him, looking relatively unimpressed. "I don't see what the problem is, aside from the massive lump of _stoopid_ you call a brain."

A nice, dark scowl was directed at the alien in a most unfriendly fashion. "You're horrible, you know that?"

Zim grinned back mockingly, zipper-like teeth flashing. "Can you _handle_ that, Dib-monkey?"

"_Yes_."

"So ignore it, and explain to Zim, for there is no problem that ZIM cannot solve!"

Dib was silent for a moment before grumbling lowly. Then, he waved a hand vaguely, saying, "Okay, let's put this into terms you could understand. Maybe…find something that _you_ would have trouble getting over."

Antennae perked curiously, the Irken staring at him with grin still in place and disbelief clear in his expression. "Like _what_?"

"Oh, I dunno… Let's say…your leaders had you banished because you didn't actually take over Earth yourself."

Any and all emotion immediately blanked from the Irken's face, and for a good while he said nothing at all. Then, his eyes narrowed and he spoke lowly, warningly, "Never mention that again. …_Ever_." It was a tone Dib had never heard from the alien, and it didn't settle right – at all.

Nodding hesitantly was all he could do in reply until Zim gave a sharp, satisfied nod and relaxed, turning away to interact with someone who _wouldn't_ nag at him. (The infant was rather pleased, to say the least.) "So…uh…" Dib tried, wondering if the Irken was ignoring him purposefully because of his suggestion, or if he'd just considered the conversation as being over.

"Zim understands."

Dib jumped a little, startled. "Huh?"

The Irken didn't look up from the infant, only frowned and stated grudgingly, "Zim understands – it was an…effective analogy. I won't mention your sibling unit again."

"Oh, uh…all right."

The two sat in relative silence, the random babbling of the child the only sound, before Zim spoke up once more, maddeningly awkward. "It would…never happen, of course, but… If Zim were…_banished_…there would be little point to escaping Earth. The Irken Empire is immense, _Dib_ – there are few places an exile can safely go, and we certainly couldn't stay _here_ for very long. This planet is…ehh…unfit."

Inferior, in other words, Dib knew – he felt somewhat gratified that the Irken hadn't mentioned his hatred of the place, however. He felt suddenly anxious when a part of the statement sank in – _escaping Earth_. Of course. They couldn't stay here; the entire planet had become a death-trap. "…Do you think that this race would do an organic sweep once they're done here?" Dib asked nervously. "Or would that have come first?"

"It can happen at any time, really, so it is…_possible_," Zim responded, antennae lowering slightly – he'd probably been worrying over such a thing since he first discovered the new invading race, Dib realized. (While in actuality, Zim had just realized the possibility himself.)

"All the more reason we should think of a way off," he told the Irken, who only nodded lightly and didn't respond. "Seeing as your base is gone-" Zim stayed silent at this, the only indication that he'd heard was a slight twitch of one eye. "-maybe we can…see if my house is still intact. Tak's ship was in the garage!" A needless reminder, but the slight bit of hope seemed to do wonders.

His companion glanced up at him immediately, a hint of a pleased grin quirking at his lips. "Can it fly?" Zim asked eagerly.

Dib nodded, returning the slight grin. "I never actually tried taking it up past the atmosphere, but I _know_ that Gaz managed to fix it enough to where it's in good working order."

"_Gaz_ fixed it?" The disbelief was back, bringing along its buddies, uncertainty and downright horror – who _knew_ what kind of evil could be lurking in that ship now! (Granted, it _had_ belonged to Tak before, but…that was a risk Zim was _willing_ to take.)

"Yeah, so she could rescue me from the polar ice caps way back during your Santa plan, and then beat me up for ruining her favorite doll three Christmases before then," Dib explained, grimacing a bit at the memory.

A bit relieved at this, Zim nodded (giving a twisted giggle at the mention of his ingenious – but unfortunately failed – Santa plan, and the fact that Dib had been beaten up by his little sister over a doll). Surely Gaz wouldn't have booby-trapped a ship she intended to pilot _herself_. "Hmm…this just might work…"

"If my house is intact," the teen reminded him, getting a look sour enough to curdle milk.

"And if it's not?" Zim prompted.

Dib blinked, then raised an eyebrow. "Uh…I dunno…try NASAPlace? Or…commandeer an enemy mech somehow? Though I doubt that would work out..." Crossing his arms over his chest, the teen frowned at him. "Why are you asking _me_, anyway? _You're_ the trained invader!"

"Exactly, Zim is a trained _invader_. Thus, Zim has been trained to _invade_ planets, not _escape_ them!"

"Wha- That's _stupid_! Don't they figure this stuff in to your training?!" Dib exclaimed.

The Irken gave a little shrug, pointedly looking at anything but his companion – instead, he bounced the infant on his lap a bit, replying with a clear amount of hesitation. "Yes, well, they also generally figure that most planets being invaded will have _spaceworthy_ vessels, and that the invader in question will normally still have their base available to them, aaaaand also that the planet hasn't already been invaded by another invading race which just so happens to be considered an immense dishonor punishable by deactivation." The last part was mentioned in one quick and quite nearly unintelligible mass, and Dib had a hard time deciphering one word from another.

He ended up wishing he hadn't bothered, though.

"You could be _killed_ for this?!" he screeched, eyes bugging as he gaped at Zim in utter disbelief. Okay…_this_ was just a bit much!

Zim rolled his eyes in exasperation before correcting flatly, "_Deactivated_, Dib-smell, there's a _difference_." He glanced upward for a moment, then muttered not-quietly-enough, "…Sort of."

"_Sort of_?!"

"It's only if the Tallests find out, anyway," Zim assured him, which didn't really help matters any. From what Dib had always figured, Irkens would never even _consider_ lying to their leaders. Certainly one as loyal as _Zim_ wouldn't – the idea was almost laughable!

Slipping off his glasses, Dib pinched at the bridge of his nose, trying to soothe the pounding headache he'd suddenly acquired. "…So, uh…you wouldn't happen to know of any of those…_safe_ planets, would you? You know, uh…just in case?"

A disgruntled noise came from the Irken, then a measure of silence before Zim answered, tone careful. "…I might."

The teen let out a sigh of relief – if all didn't end well, at least they'd have _somewhere_ to go. Probably. That is, if he hadn't already been killed by then. He had no idea what the Irken planned to do with him once they were out of this mess, but he figured it wouldn't be pretty if it ended up _well_ for his rival. If he ended up back among his own kind, then certainly Zim would either toss him out an airlock, or keep him as some sort of pet – the latter would probably end up with Dib tossing _himself_ out an airlock.

_Zim _as his owner? _No thanks_.

So far, it seemed that Zim having to flee to avoid deactivation was the most profitable thing that could happen, at least where the teen was concerned – he doubted the Irken would want to live out the rest of however many years he had left by himself, so he _might _be safe in that respect. Sure, he'd be stuck with an egomaniac in some unknown place in the deepest darkest reaches of space, but at least he wouldn't be dead or enslaved by the Irken Empire.

And, if Zim actually _did_ try to make a pet out of him, there was always the airlock idea.

Nodding to himself, though not entirely reassured, Dib slid his glasses back on and glanced to the problem Irken in question, who seemed to be preoccupied with looking extremely frazzled as the infant sucked on his finger (and he was doing quite a good job of it, too).

Well, at least the baby seemed to have things going her way; the fact that Zim _wasn't_ screaming at her for such a thing was already an immense breakthrough in Irken-human relations.

"Cute, isn't she?" Dib asked conversationally.

Surprisingly, the alien nodded, though he looked thoroughly disgusted when he managed to pull his hand away. "I think she's hungry," he managed, grimacing and wiping the spit off on the first thing within his reach – Dib's trenchcoat.

Barely managing not to scowl, the teen got to his feet, adjusting his glasses a bit. "I'll show you how to feed her before we leave – I may be next to useless with kids, but I can figure out how to do _that_, at least."

Zim stared after him curiously as he searched around for where he'd tossed the baby's supply-bag earlier on. "Leave?" the Irken echoed blandly.

"Yes, _leave_. We shouldn't hang around and waste time. Let's try my house, see if it's still standing so we can take Tak's ship. Oh, and we might want to consider getting some supplies or something along the way," Dib suggested as he leaned to check under the end table, then straightened and looked around, scratching at the side of his head. "Where did I _put_ that thing?"

"Kitchen," Zim reminded him, slouching down and looking incredibly bored.

The teen snapped his fingers. "Ah, right! Kitchen!" ('Zim just _said_ that!') "That's right, I was going to heat up a bottle for her when I woke up, so I-" Dib was cut off with a three-fingered hand to his back, propelling him towards the other room.

"Yes, yes, Dib, that's _fascinating_," the extraterrestrial drawled sarcastically as he pushed Dib forward. "But I seem to recall you mentioning…oh, I dunno…not wasting time?"

"I…wasn't."

"Rambling…wasting time…same thing." Zim shrugged as he headed past the teen, setting the baby on the kitchen counter and only wincing slightly when she decided to claim his hand for sucking on once more.

"What, and your constant moping _wasn't_ wasting time?" Dib retorted mockingly, digging about in the bag.

The Irken quirked his head, frowning a bit. "Zim wasn't _moping_."

"Oh, you were, too," the teen replied, adding on (in what might have been an understanding tone if he hadn't been grinning), "It's _okay_ to mope a little, Zim – everyone has their own way of getting their emotions out."

"Zim was _not _–_ moping_," Zim repeated firmly, antennae flattening in a warning gesture.

It was a warning gesture that was dutifully ignored. "Deny it all you want, I _know_ there's a sensitive guy in there _some_where."

"_No_." The Irken was glaring up at him huffily now, hands (one of which was covered in spit) clenched into fists at his sides.

"Aww; cheer up, emo kid."

The look of aggravation on Zim's face was _definitely_ worth the baby drool smeared across his face moments later.

* * *

Zim being serious is difficult to pull off. ...I think I failed. D:

And, speaking of being serious, I seriously think the chapter for next week will _actually_ be short.

...

No, really!

(Insert canned laughter here.)


	13. In which a promise is made

Well, it's a bit late, but at least it's not as long this time. I guess that counts for something.

Something like...my laziness.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen – In which a promise is made**

Zim leaned against the doorframe, watching his rival with disinterest as he packed as much as he could fit into the duffel bag – its size wasn't exactly conducive to the task, unfortunately. "It's not much, but…it's good enough for the moment, I guess," Dib sighed, slinging it over his shoulder. "How's the baby?"

"Ehh? She's good." The infant had fallen asleep in the Irken's arms not long after being fed, something that had only served to further spur Dib into getting them on the move – he didn't want to risk anything discovering them if she started crying. "How could she not be if _Zim_ is caring for her?"

Giving a roll of his eyes, Dib replied blandly, "Right, how could I forget that you're amazing?" Zim only hummed in agreement and creaked open the front door with his free hand, peering outside; no droids in sight, but in the far distance, he could just make out the vague outline of a sentinel mech – the Krakemeth hadn't finished with the planet yet.

It was something that was both relieving and unnerving – they'd have to be careful on their trek, but at least they didn't need to worry about any potential organic sweeps for the time being, and the fact that night was steadily approaching would make the 'being careful' portion much easier.

When the Irken stayed silent, his companion shuffled over quietly. "See anything?" A useless question, considering that Dib had eyes and thus could just as easily look outside himself.

"Nothing we'll need to worry about," Zim responded, throwing a flat look back at the human. "Lazy stink-creature. You have eyes, _use_ them."

The teen frowned at him. "I was just asking, _geez_…" Shuffling from foot to foot uncertainly for a moment, he spoke up again. "Want me to carry the baby?"

Zim flicked an antenna, the flat look switching out for something more along the lines of 'unimpressed' as he stared back at Dib. "You'd be more useless than usual, so no. Zim at least has methods of defense even when carrying stuff – methods of defense that don't require _arms_." The PAK's compartments clicked open for a moment in demonstration, then snapped shut once more. "So, ehh…unless you've got an extra appendage Zim doesn't know about hidden somewhere on your person, it's a really stupid idea if _you_ carry her."

"…You know, a simple _no_ would've been enough," Dib muttered.

"I'm an overachiever," the Irken responded with a mocking smirk.

"And all you're achieving in the first place is getting on my nerves. Yeah, Zim – great job!" Shaking his head a bit in disbelief, he started past Zim. "Let's just go."

An arm across the doorway halted his progress and he glanced down to the Irken curiously; for a moment Zim only tapped a clawed finger against the wood frame, pursing his lips as he considered something. "Not yet, Dib-creature – not until you assure Zim of something."

Dib raised an eyebrow; _Zim_ wanted to be assured of something? "Uh…okay. What?"

"…I can't trust you."

Ah. So that was what it was about. Without even waiting for the Irken to continue, Dib spoke up, looking somewhat annoyed that he had to explain it at all. "All things considered, right now you have no reason _not_ to trust me. Aside from your _usual_ paranoia, that is."

The Irken shook his head, eyes narrowed in distrust. "You, Dib-human, in nearly _all_ of the instances in which we were forced to cooperate, betrayed Zim."

"So glad to know you've been keeping track. In case you forgot, we were still _enemies_ – betraying each other was just a normal part of the deal."

"You ignored _ZIM_ in favor of _real science_!" Zim complained fervently, slouching a bit and just about _pouting_, which was really quite bizarre.

Dib threw his hands up, frustrated. "Are you _still_ upset about that?! I only did it _once_!" When the alien only continued to glare up at him moodily, he groaned and rubbed at his temples. "Okay, look – I have no reason to _betray_ you, or whatever it is you're freaking out about. I hate to say it – and I mean I _really_ hate to say it – but without your help, I'm pretty much screwed."

The Irken frowned a bit, unsure, one eye narrowing. "You would not take Tak's ship and leave Zim?"

"And do _what_?!" Dib laughed incredulously. "If the Irken Empire is as big as you say, I'd have little to no chance of finding a safe haven – and even then, the only currency I have on me is _American dollars_. And that's not even useful in _America_ anymore!"

With an interested noise, Zim nodded – it _did_ make sense.

"Anyway, we're under _truce _right now."

Almost immediately, the Irken's antennae perked. "Truce?" Zim echoed shortly. "Zim agreed to no truce! What is this _stupidness_?"

It was at this point that Dib figured he should stop trying to read between the lines whenever the Irken said something vaguely intelligent. He could've _sworn _that Zim's grudging acceptance of terms just a while earlier had been as close as the alien would ever willingly get to _admitting_ an armistice.

Groaning and holding a hand to his forehead, the teen gave up trying to be subtle. "_Zim_. Your base is gone and the planet invaded – _neither_ of us has any reason to fight, so why _shouldn't_ we be under truce?"

"I can't make truces with you, you're a stupid, smelly human!" Zim whined.

"_I thought we were over that_!" Dib grated out angrily, on the verge of strangling the obnoxious creature before him.

The ire-filled statement had the Irken frowning grumpily and averting his eyes, remaining stubbornly silent.

When it became abundantly clear that Zim was being a brat and wasn't going to own up to anything, the boy sighed harshly, running a hand back through his hair – ouch. Yep, still tangled. "I'm more worried about this than you are, _honestly_. If you leave me behind, I'm dead, and if I join you…well…chances are I'm _still_ dead."

"Why?" Dib glanced down at the alien, seemingly bemused – Zim's expression was rather similar. "Zim has no reason to kill you now."

And there it was – it wasn't an agreement to any truce, but it was damn close, and just hearing it was a relief. He gave a weak grin, something that didn't exactly help to clear the Irken's confusion. "You better not try to keep me as a slave or a…_pet_ or whatever. I'll steal your PAK off you if you do." It was less of a warning, and more of a thoroughly humorless joke. They both knew very well what had happened _last_ time Dib had tried that.

Zim waved a dismissive hand (_almost_ dropping the baby, but he caught himself just in time). "Nah – you'd probably just jump out of an airlock somewhere." Another humorless joke that had a wry smirk spreading on the paranormalist's face.

"You mean it, right? You absolutely _swear _that there won't be any enslaving or pet-making?"

"_Yes_," Zim insisted, rolling his eyes. "You'd be a useless slave, anyway." He paused to think, tilting his head to the side a little and examining Dib as though he'd never seen him before. "Too filthy to be a pet, and…probably rabid, too. You might bite Zim." The Irken shuddered a tad at the prospect.

Jokingly, Dib growled a little and snapped his teeth – the alien immediately ambled back a step, eying his rival warily.

"You're disgusting," Zim stated dully.

"If you say so."

The Irken huffed a little at what he considered a useless statement. "Yes, Zim _does_ say so." Scratching at his chin for a moment, he then asked casually, "So will the Dib be loyal?"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly go out of my way to take a bullet for you, but I wouldn't shove you into its trajectory, either."

"How reassuring," Zim responded flatly, giving his rival a dirty look.

Dib shrugged, adjusting the duffel bag on his shoulder and stepping out onto the porch, wheezing a bit at the hazy air. "You wouldn't happen to have a less intrusive atmospheric kind of thing, would you?" he asked as the Irken followed, much less bothered by the air quality.

Quirking an antenna at the simply _incredible_ description and nodding, Zim extended a mechanical arm from his PAK, taking the thin metal loops it held with his free hand. He handed one over to Dib with a cryptic grin before fixing the other around the infant's neck, taking care not to wake her up.

"…There isn't any chance I could wear this around my wrist, is there?" the teen asked hesitantly, dangling the slender loop from one finger.

"Does your wrist have anything to do with your respiratory systems?" Zim responded mildly, finishing with the baby's atmospheric regulator and directing an innocent look at Dib as he started walking.

"Uh, no, but…" The paranormalist trailed off, brows furrowed and a disgruntled frown on his face. "It seems kinda…collar-ish."

The innocent look remained, and the Irken shrugged a shoulder. "Your imagination, I'd think." He stuck his tongue out for a moment before stating lightly, "If you'd rather suffocate, Zim could always take it back."

"No, no, it's…it's fine. …Oh, and, just so you know…my house is _that_ way," Dib informed him, pointing in the direction opposite the one the Irken had been heading. Zim promptly turned on his heel, chin raised haughtily in the air as he corrected his error and pretended he hadn't made said error at all.

After hesitantly securing the atmospheric _not_-collar around his neck, the teen jogged after him, falling into step and asking conversationally, "So, do you like her?" He motioned towards the baby as he said this.

Zim glanced up at him, then down to the baby, then back up with a slight shrug and a nod. "She's okay. Not too smelly, at least." Dib immediately grinned.

"Oh man, I can't _wait_ to show you how to change her diaper."

* * *

You're in for a big surprise, Zim! :D

(Before anyone is all like, 'Hey, Zim worked at an orphanage in an unmade episode, he should know how to do that already!', I counter with 'The orphanage had the Atomic Baby Changer to do that for them'. So HA. I'M VICTORIOUS SOMEHOW.)

Anyway, when I reread this chapter, I noticed a few lines that, if read by a ZADR fan with a dirty mind, can _really_ be taken the wrong way. I won't state which ones, though, and I'm keeping them in now because they make me crack myself up due to my being an all-around loser.

By the way, guys, I've got a pic up of a Krakemeth here: http: / /krysofdeath.deviantart. com/art/Krakemeth-FtR-86918741 (Just remove the spaces, blah blah blah, you know the drill.) Isn't it just so hugable? :3

Next chapter to probably be up in a week maybe.

And hopefully I can avoid more double-meanings and ZADR hints. (Ha.)


	14. In which there is much walking

The chapter title is somewhat misleading. There's not really _that_ much walking.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen – In which there is much walking**

It was somewhat unfortunate that, although they were indeed under truce, Zim seemed to insist on making an enormous joke out of the whole thing. As he'd been handing over his stolen plasma pistol to the teen, he'd said, rather bluntly, "Be careful with it, Dib-pet."

Dib had promptly dropped the weapon in shock, barely caught it in midair, and accidentally fired it, leaving a smoking hole in the asphalt just inches from the Irken's foot.

"Weren't you listening?!" Zim snapped, the arm not occupied with the baby settling on his hip indignantly. "Zim is graciously letting you use that so you can help _defend_ us, not so you can use us as target practice!"

It was thoroughly ignored for an entirely different worry, even as the Irken seized his upper arm and started dragging him along when he wouldn't walk on his own. "What did you call me?" the teen managed weakly, stumbling a little at an unnecessarily rough tug.

"What did you _think_ Zim called you?!" the Irken exclaimed, fixing the boy with his usual death-glare. "You're a pig-smelly, so I called you _Dib-pig_! Is that such a surprise?"

Dib seemed confused, and more importantly, not convinced. "Are you sure? Cuz I could've sworn you called me something else."

One brow ridge raised slightly as Zim stared back at him, kicking at rubble on the sidewalks as he went. "Clearly the utter _joy_ at being in Zim's magnificent presence is overloading your tiny brain and sending it into frothing _madness_ – you're _hearing_ things!" He stuck his tongue out before adding on irritably, "Your insanity better not be contagious!"

Pulling his arm away and glowering at the Irken, Dib stuffed his hands into his pockets. "You're one to talk," he grumbled, turning his glare down to the cement.

There was a long length of silence that followed, Zim having decided he was (for the moment) satisfied with the amount of annoyance he'd so generously bestowed on his rival, and Dib just outright trying to ignore the Irken for that exact reason.

Instead, the teen frowned down at his boots and pretended to be very interested in each quiet footstep – it seemed like an almost deafening sound in the silence of the ruined city. Slightly unnerved, he chose to frown down at Zim's boots instead, ending up disliking how impossibly noiseless the Irken was when he walked.

Dib only glanced up once to see where they were; straight across the road from them was a small square, with only a run-down gas station with a section of its roof torn off and what was left of a bistro. Still a few blocks from his house (if it was still standing), but it wasn't much farther of a walk. Somewhat content with that, he resumed his previous activities as they made their way across the street.

He was still quite immersed in glaring at the alien's feet for no good reason when he was quite suddenly pulled to the side, Zim's claw-like fingers digging into his upper arm as a single warning – 'stay silent' – was hissed to him. The mechanical plodding heard moments later was enough of a warning, however – Dib bit at his lip and nodded as they ducked behind an outcropping of wall alongside the ruined restaurant.

Sliding down against the brick and cradling the infant against him protectively with one arm, Zim raised his free hand, a single claw extended; there was only one. They could deal with that.

A quiet pause; then, the Irken flicked one thin feeler and frowned, lifting another claw. …Two, then. Well…could be worse.

"No, wait…" Zim mumbled, looking bemused and tilting his head to the side, antennae quivering slightly.

Dib grimaced, leaning forward and resting his arms over his knees as he squatted next to the Irken. "There's a _third_ one?" he asked in a whisper. That would _probably_ be a little much for their ragtag team.

The free hand was waved dismissively at him, a gesture that clearly meant 'shut up, you're distracting me', as the Irken concentrated, eyes narrowed and lips drawn into a thin line. Then, he relaxed and shook his head. "Two – the other one's leaving."

Well, that was certainly a relief. "Can we avoid them?" Zim pushed himself to his feet somewhat awkwardly with his unoccupied hand, inching silently to the edge of the wall and peering around it hesitantly. Then, he glanced back, giving a quick nod.

As Dib sidled up next to him, the Irken mumbled lowly, "How much supply stuff do we have?"

The response was equally quiet. "Uh…not enough?" The boy glanced down to the duffel bag hanging at his side, frowning a bit. "Mostly baby supplies, really – couple of diapers, toys, formula and bottles, a pacifier-"

"Wait. What was that last thing?"

"Huh? Oh, uh…a pacifier?"

"Throw it at them."

Dib blinked, then directed an odd look at the alien. "Wha…? It's not _that_ kind of pacifier – it's something you put in a baby's mouth that can keep them from crying," he explained, making sure to keep his voice down.

"Huh. Why didn't you use that earlier?"

"Well, I tried, but she spat it back out and threw it at me," the teen informed him dully.

As expected, the Irken grinned, giving the sleeping infant a pat on the head as an added bonus. "Such an impressive little larva we've picked up," he chuckled, ignoring the irritated look Dib sent his way. "What else do we have?"

"Uh…some Chipp-brand chips, a couple bottles of water, three apples of…questionable quality, a Poop granola bar, five packs of various Ramen flavors, and…well…I'm not exactly sure what _this_ thing is, but it resembled food, so I grabbed it." The boy tugged a clear sack containing a very ambiguous-looking _something_ from the duffel bag, making a weird face as he did. "In retrospect, it probably wasn't the greatest idea."

Zim squinted at it for a moment, poked it, then made a thoroughly disgusted noise.

After rolling his eyes and tucking the 'food' away, Dib asked, "Why'd you want to know?"

"There is a small supply place right over there, yes? If nothing else, we could hide there, and get more _stuff _as well," the Irken replied lowly, glancing back around the wall. Upon determining that the droids' pilots were at a decent enough distance to where they could safely hold a conversation (provided they didn't yell at each other like usual), he spoke up slightly. "Unless we took a wormhole, there's no way such provisions could last all the way to our destination. I've seen how you eat, little piggy-thing. It's _horrifying_."

"I don't eat _that_ much…" Dib muttered, frowning. "So…why _don't_ we take a wormhole?"

Zim waved a dismissive hand. "It's not safe without the proper features – we'd probably be torn down to the molecular level and spat out as space dust in some half-formed universe ruled by Cthulu." As Dib winced and tried to think of something else, the Irken stared up at absolutely nothing, mumbling offhandedly, "I miss that little blob…"

"Er…yeah. Okay, anyway, getting more supplies is a good idea in theory, but unless you've got something to _keep_ those supplies in, it's next to useless. Only so much can fit in this little duffel bag, you know," the paranormalist told him, not bothering to ask about the seemingly out-of-nowhere statement. He figured that if he did, he'd probably just end up wishing he could burn the answer from his mind.

Lifting up a heavy-duty canvas sports bag, Zim replied, "Would this work?"

Dib was silent for a moment. "Where did you get that?" he asked hesitantly. Zim blinked, glanced between the bag and the teen, then shrugged with a noise that sounded vaguely like 'I don't know', only the phrase had been slurred and smeared all over the place until it made only the most base figments of sense. "…I don't want to know, do I?"

"Probably not."

"Er…all right, then. Let's get going."

"Yeah, that might be a good idea – I think the droids found us," Zim pointed out, maddeningly unconcerned.

Dib's eyes bugged out. "_What_?!"

"Yeah, they're headed this way. The pilots look angry."

"…Want to run screaming?"

"I _guess_ so."

* * *

I smell a fight scene coming up next week! If you could even call it a 'fight'.

(In case any of you were confused, here's a slightly cryptic note about Cthulu and Zim's comment regarding it - I love making references to the unmade episodes. 8D)


	15. In which some ransacking occurs

For the first time since Chapter Two, I have nothing to say here.

Aside from the generic disclaimer that I've been forgetting in pretty much every chapter except for six, but I think you all know that I'm not Jhonen. Or Nickelodeon. Or Viacom. Or every other company that owns a piece of Zim's amazing existence.

This chapter can also be called 'In which candy is argued over'.

...Okay, I guess I lied when I said I had nothing to say here.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen – In which some ransacking occurs**

As it turned out…there _were_ three droids.

"I'm never listening to you again!" Dib screeched over his shoulder at the Irken, just as he blasted a metal leg off the droid nearest him, sending it wavering off-kilter before it tilted over to land with a resounding _crunch_ on the pavement below.

Zim, arms full of a squirmy baby who'd figured that now would be a perfectly _lovely_ time to wake up and start crying, simply snapped something completely unintelligible back at the boy – probably in his native language, and probably an extremely rude insult of some kind. He then extended his PAK legs, skittering out of the way of the other two droids, the pilots of which had decided that it might be more fun to go after an Irken instead.

Understandable, really, seeing as they'd already spent a majority of the past few hours destroying the human race and were probably a bit tired of killing humans (which weren't all that difficult to kill in the first place).

The teen would have scowled at him had the Krakemeth in the fallen droid not lifted its covershield in order to blast at him with what looked like a handheld cannon – the shot left a blazing trail in the air and was quite impressive overall, but it unfortunately (or fortunately, if you're actually cheering for the 'good guys') missed its target. …Mostly. Dib grimaced a bit; he smelled singed hair.

Before it could get in another shot, the boy popped off a few shots of plasma, one of which hit its mark with a particularly satisfying splat – the creature reeled back, arm-cannon slipping from its grip and clattering across the pavement, to land slumped across the droid's command chair, ink-black liquid seeping between four blank eyes.

For a moment, Dib only gaped. Then, he gave an ecstatic whoop, thrusting a victorious fist into the air. "Yeah! Take that, alien scum! Man, did you see that, Zim?! I got it straight in the forehead! Didn't even-" He paused when he realized that the Irken was a tad busy with running from the other two droids (and yes, he was screaming – quite loudly).

He was tempted to sit and watch – sorely, _sorely_ tempted. But, whether he liked it or not, he'd agreed to a truce, and there wasn't any doubt that Zim would consider 'not helping' to be something more along the lines of '_FILTHY LIES AND DECEPTION_'. Thus, Dib readied himself for another shot, lining up the plasma gun with the droid closest to his companion.

Dib realized rather suddenly that the droid was getting closer, and subsequently realized that Zim was running toward him, shrieking complete and utter gibberish as the infant in his arms wailed at the tiptop of her tiny lungs. "What are you doing?! Don't bring them over here!" A glance at the fallen Krakemeth spurred his memory, and the boy hastily corrected himself. "No wait, forget that, you've got the right idea! Keep running!"

As though Zim wouldn't when he was being chased by a couple of killing machines.

A gleeful squeal suddenly erupted from the Irken as he barreled past Dib, who skirted out of the way of the two droids at the last moment (not that it would have mattered anyway, seeing as they were more intent on flattening the actually _interesting_ target), and moments later the tiny invader had scooped up the dropped arm-cannon with a free hand, a single mechanical leg taking said hand's place to keep the child from falling.

"A Decimator 3000! I've always wanted to try one of these!" Zim exclaimed cheerfully, lifting himself up on the other three spider-legs and turning sharply to face the oncoming droids – he was incredibly prompt to introduce the nearest pilot to several rounds of beachball-sized energy blasts, followed by a flurry of smaller ones in case those hadn't finished the job. When the Irken was done (several minutes later), what was left of the droid and its pilot crashed to the ground in a twisted, messy heap, which Dib stared at in horror.

After giving his brain a moment to process what had just happened, he managed hesitantly, "That was…"

"Absolutely incredible?"

"_Disturbing_. …You _fragged_ it. …_Massively_."

Zim blinked a few times, head tilted. "That's good, right?"

"Uh…_yeah_. That's…that's _really_ good. I'm just wondering how you managed it."

"Laser targeting," the Irken responded simply, not bothering to snap about how he _didn't_ have bad aim – it was painstakingly clear that he did no matter how often and vehemently he tried to deny it.

It was then that Dib remembered the third droid, along with his initial plan – it was a good thing the remaining pilot had taken to staring down at the leftovers of his comrade in a fashion not unlike the human's. "By the way, we should probably run while the last one's distracted."

The Irken's mouth dropped open for a moment before his antennae went limp and he actually _did_ pout – Dib felt the need to give his brain a good hard scrubbing to cleanse it of the bizarre sight. "But…but…the _Decimator 3000_…" Zim whined helplessly, lifting the weapon in emphasis.

Shaking his head, Dib tugged at the alien's arm. "Yes, Zim, I know – but there's a time-bomb sitting right behind us that could just as easily do the job for us."

"Ah, right. Seems like a satisfactory plan – the exploding bit is a definite plus." With a strange giggle, the Irken retracted his spider-legs, strapped the hand-cannon over his shoulder, and, with one last glance back at the droids (and pieces of droids), jogged after his ally, all the while doing a most impressive job of ignoring the shrill cries of the baby he was carrying.

They made it into the gas station in one piece, and were safely inside when the first downed droid self-destructed; afterwards, Dib chanced a look out the clear glass of the station door, confirming that his plan had gone off without a hitch. For once, he was clear to add, looking rather astonished.

Zim, of course, had been very careful to pay attention – at least, in the aspect that he was very careful to pay attention to anything other than what Dib was saying. "Ooh, they have Pixy Styx!" In the bag it goes!

"…You weren't listening to me, were you?"

"You said something?" the Irken responded, vaguely surprised. And in went another pack of sugary goodness. "Ooh, and I'll get some o' _this_…" Make that five packs of sugary goodness.

Dib frowned down at him, but figured he was better off ignoring the Irken's ignoring him – it was _Zim_ he was talking to, after all. Setting the baby's supply bag down, he squatted next to the Irken and sorted through the contents gathered so far, one eyebrow raising. Several packs of Pixy Styx, cotton candy in all varieties of rainbow colors and flavors, boxes upon boxes of Nerdz and Silly Dip, an immense assortment of suckers, a hefty chunk of rock candy, and – out of nowhere – _three_ bottles of high fructose corn syrup. "…What is all this?" he asked mildly, lifting one of the Pixy Styx packs for emphasis.

One antenna quirked as Zim stared back at him, then stared at the pack of candy in his hand, then figured he had the right idea the first time around and just stared at Dib again. "_Supplies_," he replied finally, with an air that suggested it was painstakingly obvious.

"Uh…no, Zim. This is _candy_. We need _food_," Dib informed him, feeling strangely like how a mother might if her child insisted on having dessert before dinner. Though, to be more accurate, it would be more like how a mother might feel if her child insisted on just having dessert for every actual meal.

Zim nodded as he shoved an entire package of cane sugar into the bag, his other arm cradling the slowly calming infant. "Yes, I _know_," he responded patiently in a manner suggesting that he was a grown-up attempting to explain something to a child. (Which was somewhat true if only in the context of the Irken being quite a few times older than his companion.)

There was a slight pause before the teen sighed and directed a flat look at the alien. "Candy, Zim. As in…pure sugar." He spared a moment to glance down at the bag's contents. "In fact, uh…most of the candy you picked out…_is_ pure sugar."

"With slight flavoring," Zim corrected, as though it mattered.

"With slight flavoring, okay, sure," Dib conceded dryly. "But it's still _candy_."

Silence. "So…" Zim started, brow furrowed. "…What's the problem?"

"It's not…healthy…?" the teen replied hesitantly, having expected that to be apparent from the start.

Considering the Irken's expression, however, it wasn't as apparent as he'd expected. "How can that _not_ be healthy?!" Zim exclaimed in disbelief. "Even pitiful Earth snacks such as these should do _wonders_ for your systems! All that _glorious_ sucrose!" He looked around suddenly, antennae perked. "They'd better have snack cakes here."

'Or _what_?' Dib was tempted to ask. He didn't, though, and merely frowned at the Irken. He wasn't particularly annoyed or anything – after all, it was just Zim being narrow-minded as usual. Nothing to get riled up about. "In case you never noticed before, Zim, candy and snacks are a _very small_ portion of the human diet."

The shocked look that followed this piece of information only proved that the alien hadn't even considered the possibility. After a moment of just looking dumbfounded, Zim stated bluntly, "That's sad."

The teen rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, we humans were _so_ miserable that we couldn't live off of a diet comprised solely of sugar and snacks," he replied sarcastically.

"Zim can imagine." And once again, sarcasm failed to get the point across.

"Make some room in there for stuff me and the baby can actually live off of, will you?" Dib sighed, clearly exasperated.

After a moment of staring at the more-than-half-full sports bag, Zim glanced up at him. "That's enough room, yes?" The only reply was a spiteful glare before the human took it upon himself to begin removing pack after pack of candy, his companion looking increasingly horrified. "What are you doing?! That's _Zim's_ stuff!" the Irken complained, grabbing at the package of Pixy Styx Dib was trying to return to the shelf and tugging back on it.

"I'm _making room_, you greedy pig!" the teen snapped in response; Zim recoiled sharply, eyes wide at the insult before yanking the candy away and smacking the other across the face with it. "OW! Dammit, Zim, I'm getting _really_ tired of you whacking me in the face! Knock it off!"

"You called Zim a _pig_! YOU! A _pig-smelly_!" the Irken exclaimed indignantly, swinging the package at him again – irritated, Dib caught his companion's wrist, the 'weapon' just barely missing its mark. From her spot in Zim's lap, the baby gave a displeased whine at the shouts. "Zim is no _pig_!"

Groaning irritably, the teen mentally cursed his luck before insisting, with incredible patience, "Okay, you're not a pig, but you need to leave some room for stuff that's _not_ yours. You Irkens don't even really _need_ to eat, do you?"

A disgruntled look made its way across the alien's face, Zim tugging his wrist from Dib's grip before he responded sulkily, "We _like_ eating."

"Yeah, I can see that. So how about we think of a _compromise_?"

While the frown stayed in place, the antennae perked in interest just as expected. "…Like what?" Zim asked grudgingly, trying to look as though he didn't _actually_ care.

Hard to do when snacks were at stake.

Carefully, hoping his suggestion wouldn't inspire further bratty rage from the Irken, Dib suggested, "A third of the bag will go to stuff for me and the baby, a third will go to you, and the last third can be for healthier snacks we can all _share_."

Zim pursed his lips for a moment, thinking it over (and pointedly ignoring the baby currently tugging at his fingers with undying insistence). "Healthy…? Ehh…like snack cakes?"

Though there was a severe temptation to smack his own forehead in frustration, the teen curbed it and instead responded as mildly as he possibly could, "Not quite… Okay, uh…carbohydrates are a major part of the Irken snacking diet, right?" Zim nodded, though his brow was furrowed somewhat at the odd notion of snack cakes not being healthy. "We'll grab some bagels, then."

"What are those?"

"They're kinda like donuts, only without all the sugar," Dib told him as he stood up, hefting the bag along with him. The idea of sugarless donuts was apparently intriguing, from what he could figure of the Irken's expression. "I'll grab a few bags of chips, too. Sound good to you?"

The Irken only shrugged and gave a noncommittal hum, watching blandly as the teen headed through aisle after aisle, mumbling to himself and hurrying to pick out whatever looked good now that he'd managed to talk at least a _little_ bit of sense into his companion. Watching quickly lost its appeal, however; Zim pulled off and set aside his newly acquired weapon to rustle through the remaining duffel bag, searching for something to distract the squirming infant. At least she wasn't bawling anymore, he thought as he shuffled through the bag's contents.

"Argh! _Eww_!" he exclaimed, lip curling in distaste as he pulled out the sack of ambiguous food. "I thought you got rid of this filthy thing!"

Dib poked his head over a shelf, expression quizzical. "Oh, right. Sorry," he laughed when he caught sight of the lumpy _something_, which was quite promptly flung at him. Or, at the very least, a foot to the left of him. Shaking his head and chuckling, he returned to stuffing what he could fit into the sports bag, leaving Zim to grumble irritably and poke at the child, who latched onto his finger to give it a hearty shake.

A few minutes later, his human companion shuffled over, setting the now somewhat heavy bag at his feet. "That's about all that would fit – the water took up most of the room," Dib sighed, rubbing at his forehead and frowning a bit. "Speaking of water, I need a shower…"

"_Really_? Zim hadn't noticed," the Irken replied flatly, making it more than obvious that he had and that it disgusted him.

"Gee, I'm _sorry_ I've been too busy trying to _not die_," Dib retorted, equally flat. Zim simply stuck his tongue out at him as he got up, a gesture that the teen mimicked if only to get on the alien's nerves.

It failed miserably. For a moment the Irken only stared dully at him before nodding down to the two duffel bags. "You may have the honor of carrying those for Zim," he stated haughtily, getting a raised eyebrow from Dib.

"What do I look like, your _servant_?"

Immediately, a sharp grin spread on Zim's face, and he poked a free hand at the atmospheric ring on the boy's neck. "You could say that."

Dib flushed angrily, swatting at the Irken's hand. "It's _not_ a collar – you said so yourself," he snapped.

"Never said it _wasn't_, just said you had an overactive imagination," Zim replied mockingly, the infuriating smirk widening when he added, "_Dib-slave_."

Stomping a foot indignantly, the teen exclaimed, "We had a _deal_! You promised not to enslave me or anything if I wouldn't betray you!"

The alien gave a little shrug, unconcerned. "You're already getting plenty out of this truce, so…Zim lied. But a Dib-slave and a pet larva…I believe that makes it more fair." As though Irkens cared about what was and wasn't fair to begin with.

After a moment of simply glaring at Zim and silently seething, Dib seemed to calm. Then, he responded mildly, "So, I was thinking of not bathing for the next few months…"

The Irken balked, backing away from Dib and gagging at just the _notion_ of it. "Ugh! _Fine_! No slave of _Zim's_ is going to stink, and there's _no way_ I'm going to bathe you myself! So you can just _have_ your _stupid_ not-slavery! Sickening little Earth worm!" Zim spat, utterly frazzled – even more so when the infant burst out crying for no apparent reason, and a curiously _horrible_ stench made itself known. "Argh! What is _that_?! It smells the terrible smell of _dookie_!"

Now particularly amused, the teen lifted the baby's supplies. "_That_ would be the wonderful smell of the soiled diaper I'm going to show you how to change," Dib chuckled, fishing a fresh one from the duffel bag.

A few minutes later, Dib was pink in the face from laughing too hard, and Zim had become significantly more green than usual.

* * *

Poor, poor Zim. ...Ah, well, he kinda deserved it. (Admit it.)

Next chapter will probably be up in a week or so, I guess. Provided I don't die or something. Seeing as how I haven't died in a while, though, there shouldn't be anything to worry about.


	16. In which there's no problem

Turns out that I didn't die! Wow - I'm on a roll here!

So, to celebrate my...not dying, and also getting my 42nd review (ha!), here's a shiny new early chapter! Yay! ((tosses confetti))

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen – In which there's no problem**

The nauseated look on Zim's face stuck with him as they trudged out of the tiny gas station, into smoky dusk and through a crumbling neighborhood, occasionally stepping over or around the odd corpse. The Irken every now and then cast a wary glance at the infant in his arms, who responded with gurgles and coos that could fell even the most hardened soldier into squealing glee. Clearly, the cute behavior was a defensive mechanism to hide the true _smelliness_ within.

A damned good defensive mechanism it was, too – now that the abhorrent stench had been eliminated via handfuls of baby wipes and nearly half a bottle of clean-smelling powder (and a fresh diaper, of course), Zim simply couldn't find it in himself to be overly angry with the child.

Overly, at least – he was still angry. Betrayed with such horrible _dookie_, how could he not be?

He stuck his tongue out at the baby, who stared wide-eyed up at him for a moment before grabbing for the strange serpentine muscle – it looked so much like a worm, and worms were fun! Gagging when the tiny hand closed around his tongue, Zim struggled to disentangle himself from the infant's grasp, mildly annoyed by her giggling and thoroughly annoyed when Dib started laughing along with her.

"_THILENTH_!" he attempted to screech at the boy, only managing to accidentally bite his own tongue and make his companion laugh even harder. Grimacing, the Irken finally succeeded in pulling the hand away, giving the infant an aggravated flick to the forehead once he did.

To smeets of a more Irken nature, this would have been considered to be slight punishment – meant to embarrass yet not actually hurt. The human baby, on the other hand, clearly didn't even consider it to be _that_. She only gave a slight recoil of surprise before squirming and laughing, making 'gimme' gestures for Zim that he dutifully ignored in favor of the silent treatment.

As the infant doubled her efforts for attention, Dib directed an amused grin at the Irken, the hand not resting on the duffel bag straps tucked in his trenchcoat pocket. "So, you still like her?"

Zim glared at him out of the corner of his eye, a scowl decorating his face once more. "I believe I shall name her 'Stinky'. …It's a fitting name." He walked a little faster, intent on putting a good amount of space between himself and the annoying teen – to his dismay, it only had Dib lengthening his pace in order to keep up.

"It's a _stupid_ name, that's what it is."

The Irken turned to pin the full force of his glare on his companion, taking step after step backwards as he did (he ended up having to slow down when he almost tripped over his feet – twice). "She is _Zim's_ pet – I'll name her whatever I want!" he snapped, antennae flattening defensively.

A light huff escaped Dib, and he rolled his eyes a bit. "I was the one who found her. If it weren't for me, you would've left her there," he reminded Zim in a rather grumpy tone.

"She likes Zim better," the Irken informed him haughtily, not even considering the other's statement worth his time. It was such _valuable_ Zim-time – how could he waste it?

"I don't _care_," Dib retorted, frowning. "In fact, I'd almost rather she _didn't_ like you – I really hate that you're making a pet out of her."

Zim whipped around once more, back to the human boy, though he directed an odd look at him over his shoulder as he walked. "Do you, now? Aww – poor little Dib-smell, don't worry. Zim won't ignore you," he teased, cackling a bit at the disgusted expression that was prompt to appear on Dib's face. "If it _bothers_ you so much, why haven't you done anything about it?"

Adjusting the bags to a more comfortable position, the teen averted his eyes moodily. It shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did – certainly it was better for the child if the Irken took a liking to her. His immensely possessive behavior would no doubt extend to her, much as it did for Dib (as unnerving as the teen found that particular fact), and once Zim claimed something as his, any danger towards the claimed would be considered an attack on his very pride. And while he couldn't exactly consider Zim an ample model for the rest of the Irken race, the would-be invader Tak had only solidified the conclusion the paranormalist had come to.

Irkens would go to incredible lengths for the sake of their pride.

Thus, Dib simply directed a somewhat disgruntled look at the child – a simple little thing who couldn't yet understand just how fortunate she was to have been taken into the care of an Irken, however insane that Irken happened to be. "She's probably safer this way," he muttered finally, averting his eyes. Considering the massive proportions of _Zim's_ pride, he pitied any enemies the child might make in her lifetime.

"Yes, because Zim is amazing," the Irken stated with a nod.

With a grating sigh, Dib conceded, "Sure, whatever. Just do me a favor and think of a different name for her, will you?"

"I'll do it later."

Meaning he'd probably never do it. Raising his eyes skyward in exasperation, Dib once again cursed his luck and tried to think of something to calm himself down. Hmm…the mental image of Zim being beaten with a large brick over and over was rather therapeutic…

They spent the next ten minutes walking through the night-shadowed streets in near silence, the baby's nonsensical babbling the only major sound; there was an occasional burst of cricket song, however, or the bark of some distant dog running about. And once – just once, and from the far side of town – came the ringing of flat notes of triumphant Krakemeth droids.

The following metallic shriek of a sentinel mech had the two jumping in shock; the sound had issued from unnervingly close, yet there was no death machine to be seen.

It was, thankfully, a short-lived mystery.

Hardly three streets from Dib's house – if it had withstood the recent events – a large silver dome the height of what two-story houses remained around it lay in the center of an intersection, smooth metal surface dully reflecting the light of the slowly rising moon. A Krakemeth in a full-bodied biohazard suit crawled around its edges, seeming to be doing some sort of maintenance, though it didn't interest Dib in the least. What interested him was the fact that what it was working on was an exact double of the monstrosity he'd been faced with, on what he'd initially assumed to be a normal morning of grocery shopping. There was, however, one clearly noticeable difference.

"It's…smaller," Dib mumbled, somewhat intriqued.

"Class 17-50, I believe. The one I faced before was _far_ more impressive – Class 5-37," Zim replied, scratching at his rear with about as much interest as his tone had carried. That is, not much at all. "Good firepower, but not too agile. They're more for…stomping. And squishing." The Irken gave a slight grimace – it was a fate he himself had only narrowly avoided.

The teen mimicked the action, but couldn't even so much as get another word out when he found his arms being filled with a tiny blanketed infant. Dib stared up at his companion in shock, even as Zim started shoving him onward.

"Get going – you'll only be in Zim's way. If Tak's ship has been destroyed, you are to return here and remain out of the way. If it's in one piece,_ stay there_. And above all, you are to keep my pet-smeety safe." The alien watched him levelly for a moment before adding, "Do you understand, Dib-creature?"

Sputtering helplessly for a moment, Dib glanced down to the baby – she seemed confused as to the sudden switch in caretakers – and then back up to Zim incredulously. "You intend to fight that thing by _yourself_? Are you crazy?!" More so that usual, at the very least.

Zim waved him off with a rough gesture of his hand, scowling irritably. "I can handle a simple foe like this, no problem," he assured Dib, motioning back to the arm-cannon strapped across his back, angled slightly due to the PAK, and continuing cheerfully, "It has laser targeting! How can I miss?"

Because you're _Zim_, Dib wanted to reply, but he bit the comment back and instead nodded grudgingly. "And…what do we do if Tak's ship _is_ destroyed?" he asked hesitantly.

"I'll use my incredible Zim-skills to gain the pilot's cooperation!" Zim exclaimed, grinning widely. He paused for a moment of thought, antenna perking. "Might need some rope."

"That's…not exactly what I'd call cooperation…"

"And a gag," Zim continued, not listening to Dib in the least. "It'll probably yell a whole lot. That'd be annoying."

Wishing he could smack a hand to his forehead but having no free hands to do so, now burdened with both duffel bags and a baby, Dib sighed irritably. "Yeah, uh, having one of the things that's been trying to kill us along for the ride in a commandeered vessel – which, might I add, would otherwise _explode_ without the original pilot being anything other than alive – _might_ not be the best way to go about this!"

"Why are you still here?!" Zim barked, shoving him forward a bit more.

"Because your plan is _stupid_!"

The Irken snarled at him, baring not-entirely-threatening zipper-teeth before snapping challengingly, "Got any _better_ ideas, worm-thing?" Before Dib could actually answer, he cut in swiftly, "I think _not_! So do not question the methods of the amazing ZIM, for Zim's methods are _ingenious_ – _far_ beyond the likes of your _pitiful_ mental capacity! Now GO!"

With a final shove, Dib stumbled forward, almost losing his balance entirely and pitching forward. He caught himself, however, and directed a half-hearted glare at the Irken over his shoulder – Zim only made a 'hurry up' gesture with the hand not suddenly occupied with a plasma cannon, so the teen reluctantly turned away and jogged (as best as he could with everything he was carrying) down the street and farther from the mech. It was a somewhat roundabout way, but it would keep him out of sight and didn't take much longer anyway.

He glanced back only once to find the Irken gone, and it was at that point that he realized that he should have thought to mention that Zim didn't really _have_ to fight, seeing as they hadn't actually been spotted. Of course, when a disharmonious computerized chord emitted from the mech and it stretched up to its full height – revealing that it was much bigger than they'd initially thought – Dib figured it was a bit late to run back and tell him that.

A good-sized blast of cannon-fire from the sentinel only strengthened his resolve to keep going – he figured not looking back might help, too.

If nothing else, the continuing stomps and laser blasts from the mech proved that Zim was at least making for a difficult target.

As Dib struggled to keep up his pace, he felt his mood somewhat uplifted by the lack of any worrisome amount of destruction around his neighborhood. Surely any destruction at all was worrisome, of course, but while some houses had seen better days, anywhere from half to a majority of the foundation being torn away, other houses had only a portion of wall or a door knocked in, and some hadn't been so much as touched.

Of course, if Zim's plan of confronting the mech was as stupid as the teen thought, and the Irken ended up getting himself killed, it wouldn't matter all too much even if Dib's house _was_ still in one piece. He didn't even know if Tak's ship could make it out of Earth's atmosphere, let alone support him and the baby in space.

"That _idiot_," Dib groaned. "I can't believe I have to rely on him like this! It's ridiculous, you know?" He directed the comment down to the infant now curled up in his arms, though she seemed more interested in whimpering and clinging to the folds of her blanket than listening to her rescuer. "You shouldn't rely on him either; he's going to get us both killed at this rate."

He painstakingly ignored the fact that it was only due to Zim's insanity and possessive rage that they'd survived in the first place.

As he mumbled to himself, a turn onto the next street confirmed what they'd been hoping for, and relief flooded through him. Barely suppressing a joyous shout, Dib awkwardly ran the last stretch to his home, the familiar structure having only a nick in its roof and a broken window to show for everything that had happened.

Though incredibly tempted as he was to run upstairs for a shower and a change of clothes, the teen knew there were far more pressing matters at hand. Dropping the smaller bag to his side to free one arm, Dib pulled open the garage door, flipping the lightswitch a few times before he figured that, yes, the power was indeed out – no doubt permanently – and just carefully picking his way through the wire-ridden darkness to slide the cover off the Irken vessel, thankful for the slight glow the half-moon managed to offer through the veil of smoke covering the city.

"Amazing, isn't it?" he asked the baby offhandedly, an almost reverent look on his face. "And to think – if Tak had never shown up, I wouldn't have even gotten this ship. We wouldn't have a way off of Earth." He paused, glancing upwards and scoffing a bit. "A way off that didn't involve stealing a death mech, that is. Some plan _that_ would've been. Really, sometimes Zim's craziness is too much even for _me_, and I..." Dib trailed off unsurely before adding flatly, "I talk to myself. …It's weird."

Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the ship; the covershield opened to his touch, control panel lights blinking to life as it recognized and admitted the human, something that had taken Dib countless nights of trial and error to achieve. Reworking Irken programming wasn't the easiest of tasks, after all.

The amount of space in the Spittle Runner would be a problem, however, he noted when he loaded the two duffel bags into the space behind the pilot seat – they'd barely fit. The baby was small enough (obviously), and while Zim wasn't entirely _small_, he wasn't entirely _large_, either. Dib, on the other hand, was a nearly full-grown adult male.

Sure, it had been all well and good when he and Gaz had been children, and were able to squeeze in next to each other and still have breathing room and a meager amount of personal space, but now? Now there was hardly even enough space for the teen to stretch out his legs in the tiny ship.

Being cramped was one thing, though – being cramped with one's mortal enemy was an entirely different thing altogether. Personally, Dib didn't want to spend the whole outer space expedition squeezed up close to _Zim_, no matter that the alien was his ally now. He'd never hear the end of it from the Irken, and he'd probably do a good amount of complaining himself.

So, setting the baby nice and comfortable in the pilot's seat and locking the commands in case she decided to start whacking buttons, Dib rushed from the garage and into the darkened rooms of what would soon no longer be his home, intent on doing _something_ to at least put a few inches between the two grudging allies when they got on their way. (If they ever did, the cynical part of his personality was oh-so-kind to remind him.)

He came back with a small bag of personal possessions and a couple of pillows, the latter of which he hastily shoved between the gaps of the ship's metal walls and the command chair in a sad attempt to give the vessel more seating room – it somewhat worked, though it said little to nothing for comfort. Let Zim complain about it – at least he wouldn't be complaining about being scrunched up against a smelly human.

Speaking of which…

Intent on calming his nerves – which the nearby rumbles of battle really weren't helping – Dib took to hosing off what grime covering him that he could in the front yard, not wanting to risk heading inside for too long when he couldn't keep an eye on the mech. It was already far too close for comfort.

After just a few short minutes of staring at the death machine as it stomped about, and failed attempts to distract himself with a clean change of clothes and a snack from a garage cupboard, Dib tossed his hands up in frustration. "How's he even supposed to know I got here okay?! Geez! His _plans_ – they're riddled with gaping _holes_!" he exclaimed.

Rushing over to the ship, he made quick work of popping the baby's pacifier into her mouth and ensuring she had a toy or two to keep herself occupied, then slid the covershield shut once more and covered the vessel. After ensuring the plasma pistol was safely tucked in his belt, Dib pulled the garage door closed and, with once last glance back at the house, set off into the night at a brisk run, directly towards the mech.

He didn't know what he could do, but – no matter how much of a problem the Irken said it _wasn't_ – he had a feeling that Zim wouldn't be able to hold up for much longer. And no matter how much the Irken complained, Dib was _going_ to help.

It served Zim right, anyway, for making up such terrible plans.

* * *

In next week's episode, Dib makes a total fool of himself. This is not a spoiler - you should've expected it, anyway.


	17. In which something improbable happens

I lost track of my sense of humor somewhere near the very beginning of this thing, so I instead tried to be all dramatic for this chapter. I clearly failed, but that's okay. Maybe it'll still be interesting.

Strangely enough, the title of this chapter could probably describe over half of the overall fic. ...Hmm.

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen - In which something improbable happens**

He'd been terribly..._terribly_ wrong; it was something he'd realized the moment the sentinel had reared up to its full height, blocking the smoke-veiled half of the moon and a good portion of the sky along with it.

This was _not_ a Class 17-50.

It wasn't even _close_ to being a Class 17-50.

And that...was _very very _bad.

It had been quite a while since the Irken had made this realization; he wasn't sure how long it had been, though. All he knew was that it had been quite a while, and he hadn't yet landed a debilitating shot, the Decimator 3000's targeting system having chosen _now_ of all times to malfunction, and that – horror of horrors – the battle was slowly beginning to wear him down. He, ZIM, best of all Irkens save the Tallests...was _losing_.

Grimacing as he barely side-stepped a sweep from a disintegrator ray, Zim scurried across rubble on his PAK legs, still waiting for the prime opportunity to blast the monstrosity into oblivion and trying not to think about the implications of the advanced weaponry this one had.

The pilot had to be the equivalent of a Brigadier General, at _least_ – and unlike a mere Sergeant, a simple bioscan wasn't going to satisfy it once its quarry was finished. Oh, no – it would keep on smashing until there weren't enough scraps of its enemy left to fill a matchbox.

...Argh! He was trying to _ignore_ that fact!

Shaking his head roughly as though to dislodge said fact from his mind, the Irken skirted to the side to avoid the mechanical arms, having to stop short when the sentinel stomped down, cracking through the top layers of the concrete where Zim would have otherwise been standing. Before he could even so much as process this, another metal arm was sweeping towards him.

He managed to dodge at the last moment out of sheer instinct alone – enough to avoid a full-on blow that would have left him splattered across the pavement, at least. It still clipped him hard enough to send him skidding on his back across the street, and as Zim rolled to his feet through a haze of pain, narrowly avoiding cannon-fire, it became clear that nothing short of a miracle was going to save him now.

Not now that his PAK had been damaged.

Everything seemed to slow to an agonizing crawl the moment a mental signal to his spiderlegs had resulted in nothing; the Decimator 3000 clattered against the blacktop as Zim fell to his knees, barely even registering the throbbing in his newly twisted ankle, or the reawakened burn of a former injury – the plasma bolt to his side, when he'd gotten his hands on the very weapon Dib now held in his possession.

Huh...the Dib. ...Had he even made it home?

He felt suddenly exhausted, in every sense of the word – his PAK shutting down all but the most base of survival necessities. All of the aches and pains the Irken had acquired over all the past hours he'd lost track of came roaring back in that single moment, as the sentinel mech (Class 1-29, he recognized blearily) prepared to crush the life from him for good, metal leg outstretched and hovering over Zim's tiny form.

And all the Irken could do was give a weak chuckle as the appendage began the descent that would end him; this was a far cry from the dishonorable mess that would have resulted from the Tallests discovering his failure. He could handle this.

He could almost accept this, even. The Dib would find a way out, as he always did, and his pet-smeet would be safe with him; amazing as Zim was, and as much as he might like it to, their survival didn't have to depend on him.

You'll be fine, he mentally assured the Dib, an odd grin quirking at his mouth when he thought he caught a glimpse of the human; strange, really, that that would be the last thing he'd see.

And then came a burst of plasma fire, the groans of joints and gears as the mech teetered off-balance for a moment, and the slamming of metal into the concrete – just inches from where Zim had fallen in grudging acceptance of his fate. The shout that came with it was what brought the Irken back to his senses.

It also brought with it a searing anger that had Zim forcing himself to his feet, all to scream at the moronic creature that had so blatantly ignored his orders. "_DIB_! You _horrid_ little meat-worm! I told you to-" A certain missing something – or more accurately, some_one_ – had his thought process screeching to a halt. Numbly, as the mech turned to consider the new arrival (and possible threat?), he leaned to retrieve the Decimator 3000; there was no option for failure anymore. It couldn't happen; not now that the Dib had expressly disobeyed him.

This inferior creature and its overpowered mech were _not_ going to destroy something he'd worked so hard to protect! And...if they were _both_ killed here...

Fury overtook him then, antennae fully flattened and a blast from his weapon glancing off the mech's metal dome as he shrieked, "You _left_ Zim's smeet behind?! OF ALL THE-!" Zim fired off another shot, hardly even paying attention to where he was aiming, so intent was he on ranting at Dib, who backed up when he realized just how angry he'd gotten the Irken. "How could you be so incredibly _stupid_?! You're supposed to be _there_, keeping her _safe_, like Zim _ordered_! Why did you not- ARGH! I _HATE_ YOU!"

A flurry of plasma bolts accompanied the stream of anger in verbal form, and as Zim finished up the rant with an enraged scream, he fired off one last shot at the sentinel – an improbably dead-on hit, tribute to the Irken's all-encompassing possessive rage.

Of course, Dib figured as his rival collapsed once more, completely spent, possessive rage wasn't always going to be enough. The fact that the sentinel mech was still standing was undying proof of that.

The metallic arm poised to smash him into a bloody pulp was pretty good proof, too.

While not quite as agile as Zim, Dib was still quite capable of dodging (and did so admirably), and he popped off a couple of shots over his shoulder as he darted around the giant appendage towards the fallen Irken.

Not that he was concerned or anything – he just needed the better weapon.

...Okay, maybe he was a _little_ concerned. He _did_ need Zim's help to get off the planet, after all.

Sparks erupted over his head when one of his shots made its mark, damaging one of the sentinel's side-arms. Grinning victoriously, Dib glanced up at it for a split second – a split second in which his unbelievably terrible luck decided to make a guest-star appearance and he tripped over a very small and incredibly creepy chihuahua.

How that chihuahua even got there is anyone's guess.

He didn't bother to grab his dropped plasma pistol, only grumbled and quickly rubbed at his slightly bloodied chin. Then, the boy picked himself up enough to scramble the remaining distance to Zim, wincing a bit when he got a better look at him; he'd certainly seen better days, that was for sure. Shooing the horridly creepy dog away with one hand, Dib grabbed for the Decimator 3000 with the other – only to have it suddenly and inexplicably gone in a puff of dust.

Their only other weapon; vaporized. Shocked and feeling an unmistakable icy feeling in his gut, Dib turned his gaze up to find the covershield of the mech sliding open as it lowered itself, legs splayed out and undamaged arms further balancing it. The Krakemeth within gave a leering grin, gurgling when the teen looked back to the abandoned pistol and waving one suction-cup-tipped finger in a playfully admonishing manner – the disintegrator ray had already been trained on the two.

So...that was it, then? All the trouble and effort, for _nothing_? Turning his head so he couldn't see the abhorrent creature, Dib stared down helplessly at the now-unconscious Irken, then clenched his eyes shut when the flat, ear-piercing shriek of a droid sounded and simply waited for the end.

...And waited...

...And waited.

Then he waited a bit more – honestly, drawing it out like this was really inconsiderate of the thing.

He should've just tried to grab the pistol, anyway.

Although, it was probably a bit too late now.

So...he waited some more.

But the end never came. Not for him, or for Zim, either. What did happen, until it was all over and explanations could follow, eluded him for the most part.

The only thing he saw when he lifted his head, apprehensive and curious as to why they were still alive, was a lone Krakemeth droid, its pilot conversing lowly with that of the sentinel before a single plasma shot echoed, and the latter slumped down in its command chair, ink-black seeping from its forehead. Then, the traitor slid to the ground and over to the sentinel to fiddle with controls; once finished with that, it glanced to the two rivals-turned-allies with disinterest. Eyes swiveled as it gave a seemingly unconcerned grumble before it slid back to its droid, offering a helping dual-hand to another seated inside, and out stepped the last thing Dib had expected to see.

"_Dad_?!"

* * *

Cue dramatic music.

Although I bet you all saw it coming, anyways.

Next chapter will be up in about a week. Maybe less, depending on my mood.


	18. In which Dib is quite dramatic

This chapter took forever to write, and I was so amused by my attempts at being dramatic and serious that I couldn't help but make fun of them directly after. This chapter and the next also provide the set-up for any possible sequels I might write if I'm not being a lazy bum.

Also, as last chapter was apparently a cliffhanger of sorts, I decided to update again. Mostly because my living situation is precarious and I don't want anyone to die of suspense or something if I'm not able to update in a long while. XD;

In case anyone is wondering, and to avoid any yellings of 'RARR, ZIM NEVAR SED THAT, UR DUM!1', the line about Zim always beating Dib is from Mopiness of Doom - I DID say I like referencing the unmade episodes, after all.

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen – In which Dib is quite dramatic**

The Professor had never looked as worn out as he did now; labcoat collar pulled down and the goggles that normally covered his eyes (of the same mica-gold persuasion as his children, and lined with age) dangling around his neck as he leaned to give a hesitant and altogether awkward hug to his son. He released him quickly to instead rest gloved hands on shoulders, Dib glancing up at the father who had always been so distant, unsure of exactly what to feel.

Before Membrane could say anything, he shied back a bit, gaze drifting to the older man's Krakemeth companion suspiciously. "Is there...anything you want to say to me, Dad?" Dib asked him quietly, eyes not moving from the large alien (after staring back at him blandly for a moment, it completely ignored him).

Professor Membrane stood silently for a moment, then gave a slight chuckle. "Well, I'm glad you're all right, son. Of course, I wouldn't expect anything less, you sharing my incredible intellect and all!"

Dib grimaced a bit – apparently his father hadn't changed a bit despite everything that had happened. "Uh, that's...not exactly what I-" He paused, thought for a moment, then simply gave a shrug. Some things would never change; but then, maybe they didn't need to. "Thanks, Dad."

Another glance to the Krakemeth nearby, followed by a quizzical look to the Professor. "It's great that you're okay, I'm just... Why are you with one of _them_? What's going on?"

"Ah, yes, I knew that would come up. Son, this would be Zxhermnskilek, Zxherm for short – no need to be alarmed. He's friendly." Professor Membrane paused for a moment, lips pursed, before adding, "For the most part."

From behind him, Zxhermnskilek gave a low grunt, slithering back to his droid and slumping against its metallic surface to wait, dual-arms crossed and what seemed to be a bored expression on his face.

Leaning in close to Dib, the older man admitted quietly, "I can't always interpret the meaning of those grunts, but seeing as he's assisted me a great deal, I can only conclude they're of a somewhat pleasant nature."

Dib managed something akin to a relieved smile, though the heaping mounds of confusion made it a tad difficult. "That's great, Dad, but I still don't get why he'd save you in the first place."

"Yes, well, there will always be unanswered questions," Professor Membrane replied jovially, getting a frustrated sound from his son.

"That's not really the kind of question you should just ignore!" Dib exclaimed, already fed up with his father's self-important behavior. "Geez, Dad! How can you act like this?! How can you be such a genius, yet still be so _stupid_?! You're dealing with alien scum that just _slaughtered_ most of the human race – alien scum that killed _Gaz_! Doesn't that _mean_ anything to you at all?!"

The scientist didn't even flinch, let alone show any kind of concern. Instead, he patted the boy's shoulder, smiling congenially as he spoke once more. "An unfortunate occurrence, yes. But my companion here was considerate enough to assist me in locating her body before it was incinerated – with the power of _science_ and my amazing intelligence, it'll be a simple matter to reanimate her!"

He hesitated then before adding, "I intended to retrieve the both of you from the building, but had to settle on keeping a watch on you instead. Zxherm was a tad reluctant to approach at first, when your, uh-" The Professor cleared his throat, a slight but entirely humorless smile quirking at the corner of his mouth. "-little foreign friend seemed to spot us. Boy's a bit violent for his age, isn't he?"

The reference to what seemed like distant past now might have had the teen repressing a chuckle, even though the whole 'foreign friend' business had caused him a good deal of grief; instead, he whirled to where Zim lay, battered and bruised. "Zim!" Rushing over and crouching beside him, Dib looked over him uncertainly. "Wow, you...you look awful," he managed to laugh.

It was something that would have garnered a negative retort.

The Irken remained silent.

"Uh...hey. Z...Zim? Quit it – you're... I know you're just doing that to freak me out!"

"PAK damaged." The throaty grumble from behind him had Dib glancing back, recoiling a bit when he found the Krakemeth - Zxherm-something-or-other - leaning over the two of them.

The teen returned his gaze to his enemy (or was that even the right word anymore?), looking more and more distressed. "Damaged... But that – it's his...it's his life support! Without it, he'll..." He couldn't finish, the last word choking itself down, refusing to allow itself to be spoken.

He and Zim had known each other for years – they'd hardly left each other alone since the first day the Irken had stood, haughty and spiteful and so obviously alien, at the front of a classroom of schoolchildren no bigger than himself. And despite all of their harsh words, the physical and emotional bruises they'd left each other with, Dib could hardly imagine what his life would have been like without Zim – could hardly remember a time when Zim _wasn't_ around. Everything before was just...

...pointless – boring. Why remember it? It wasn't worth it.

Enemies, rivals, grudging allies – it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that, when it all came down to it, the battered Irken before him was the only defining thing in his life. There couldn't be one without the other, not when they were so differently the same; neither fit in with the rest of the flock – Dib, the black sheep – and Zim, the ferocious little wolf-in-sheep's-clothing.

"It's not supposed to end like this!" Dib yelled at him then, shaking Zim's shoulder roughly – the Krakemeth behind him gave a surprised gurgle, a dual-hand lowering to restrain the boy only to be slapped away. "Dammit, Zim! You said you'd always beat me, didn't you?! What good is saying _always_ if you're just gonna go and...do stupid stuff all the time?!"

There wasn't so much as a twitch from the Irken – antennae lay limp and eyes slit mostly shut. The dulled look in them had Dib slumping, head lowering as he knelt over the alien helplessly. The hand that hadn't slapped away the restraining appendage remained on Zim's shoulder, grip looser and more careful now, but still giving the smaller figure a slight, insistent shake now and then. "Come on, Spaceboy...get up. If...if you don't get up, I'll have won, and...and I won't forgive you if you let me win this easily."

Dib clenched his eyes shut, fingers curling in the worn pink fabric – this couldn't be happening...right? Not this way. And he definitely _wasn't_ on the verge of crying, was he? No – no, he couldn't be. So Zim couldn't be...dying, either. The Irken would jump up, laugh at him for falling for it, he'd get angry, and then he'd get over it, and they'd go back to the way things were. Zim couldn't just...

"...You're not...just gonna give up...right, Zim?"

A three-fingered hand brushing against his cheek had his eyes opening, and he found himself torn between relief and embarrassment – Zim looked quite exasperated. "I was trying to smack you so you'd stop talking, but my arms are all noodley," the Irken managed weakly.

Zxhermnskilek spoke up then, looking about as exasperated as Zim. "Was going to say 'PAK fixing itself' before you go all whiny cry-boy, but then I thought, ehh. Might be funny." Dib shot the creature a nasty look, only to receive something that might have been akin to an unimpressed eyebrow raise had the alien had any eyebrows. "Was wrong, though – not so much funny as...how you say? Uhhhh...pathetic."

"Yeah, that's the word," Zim agreed, pulling himself up into a sitting position using the lapels of Dib's trenchcoat, clinging to the fabric tightly to keep from collapsing again – something made rather pointless when he grumbled to Dib, "Get away from me – you stink of hose-water." He then complained when the boy did just that, leaving him to fall forward and end up flat on his face.

Sighing in what seemed to be relief, Professor Membrane made his way over, helping his son to his feet. "You were always quite the dramatic child...but that might have been a little unnecessary."

"Why are you guys acting as though it was terrible of me to be worried?!" Dib exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration.

"It much more funny than pity party," Zxhermnskilek mumbled offhandedly.

"Gee, _thanks_," the teen replied tersely, wavering off-balance a bit when Zim decided he'd attempt to get up – once again via his trenchcoat. It might not have been so obnoxious if the Irken wasn't being terrible at getting to his feet, but then again, Zim _had_ just been in a rather one-sided fight against a death mech, so he couldn't really lay any blame on him. "Do you need some help?"

Zim frowned up at him from somewhere around his knees, digging claws into the fabric of his trenchcoat. "_Noooo_. Zim is _perfectly_ capable of standing! Ehh, s'just my arms transferred all their noodleyness to my legs, and it's making it more difficult than usual. But I can do it myself! Zim needs no help from an inferior-" Dib planted a hand on the other's forehead and shoved him back onto his butt before the typical insult could be finished.

"Well, then, son, it's best if we get going – we have much to do, and much to explain to the readers!" Membrane stated in his typical epic fashion; because pretty much everything the Professor said had to be in an epic fashion.

"Uh...readers?" Dib wondered before shaking his head. "Sorry, Dad. I don't think I'd like hanging around the guys who annihilated our civilization."

The nearby Krakemeth emitted a series of clacks that had no discernible meaning before stating, "Cannot be held accountable for such simple matter. It not even break galactic code, your race not even evolve to space stage yet." While Zim only nodded, once again in agreement with the other alien, the last bit of the statement had Dib squinting in confusion before simply shrugging it off.

Zim took that moment to butt in, despite the fact that his rival had clearly been about to say something (perhaps because of that fact). "Why's your English so bad? The other tentacley I met could talk just fine!"

"Er...translator broken. Been going to fix, but...ehh. Too lazy."

"As I was about to say before I was so _rudely _interrupted," Dib snapped, directing an irritated glare at the Irken, who smiled blankly as though he hadn't realized. "Accountable or not, we can't go with you; Zim and I have to get back to the baby."

Professor Membrane instantly perked up. "_Baby_? ...Now, son, I know I haven't always been the best parental figure, but you should have known to at least-"

"_DAD_! That's not what I meant at _all_!" Dib practically screeched, all of a sudden finding it _very _necessary to put a good deal of space between himself and the Irken. Unfortunate, really, seeing as Zim was once again attempting to use him as a steady post for that tricky thing called standing. "We rescued a baby, that's all! She's waiting for us back at our house!"

"Well, then, we can't leave her pining for her beloved parents!" Dib's shouts about how the professor wasn't listening were duly ignored. "Zxhermnskilek, would dropping my son and his foreign...heh..._friend_ off at our residence be too much of an intrusion? I trust you remember the way..."

"Dad! He's _not_ my friend, and it's _not like that_!"

The Krakemeth gave a little shrug at the request, accompanied by a swivel of his smaller eyes. "Suppose not hassle much; already ahead of schedule besides, and it close." His thick tentacles slapped against the blacktop as he moved back towards the metal droid, and he glanced back only once, grating out, "Should go now, though – Sentinel deactivated, but still not safe to hang around very long."

"Agreed," Membrane replied with a sharp nod before turning to his son. "We'll have to discuss your poor family planning some other time. For now, I'd just like to see my two sons safe and sound in Zxherm's droid, so be the doting significant other I never was and assist him, will you? He seems to be having trouble standing." With that, the professor turned and followed his companion.

From his spot on the ground, Zim stared after him with antennae quirked and expression disgruntled. "What was all _that_ supposed to mean?"

Dib immediately winced – there was no _way_ he was going to explain. Not to _ZIM_. "I...I honestly have no idea. ...Uh...you need some help or what?"

Grumbling under his breath, the Irken raised his arms, making 'gimme' gestures. "I suppose I will _allow_ you to assist the incredible Zim. But only because you're not as smelly as you were earlier."

"Well gee, I'm thrilled that I measure up to your disturbingly high standards," Dib huffed as he tugged Zim to his feet.

The Irken almost looked offended at the statement. "I only said you were slightly less stinky, not that your overall existence is satisfactory."

Before Dib could let go and leave the alien to fall out of spite, Zxhermnskilek called for the two to hurry, seeming to be rather irritable; thus, the boy gritted his teeth and let Zim lean on him for support as they walked, doing everything he could to ignore the fact that the Irken was purposefully trodding on his foot at every chance he got. Instead, he went back to that very therapeutic image of Zim being hit repeatedly with a brick.

Ah, yes, now he felt much better – he could almost ignore the dull throb in his toes as he lifted Zim up into the droid, Zxhermnskilek tugging him in right after. The covershield slid shut with a snap before the metal machine went into motion with a few pushes of buttons, and Dib leaned back against the inner wall with a relieved sigh. At the back of the small cockpit area he caught glimpse of a glass tube, its surface frosted over, and squinted at it a bit before he discerned a familiar purple and black blur – so they really _had_ found Gaz, then.

He gazed around, unsure of how to take it all – a member of the race who had destroyed his own, the alien he'd been hunting for a good deal of his life, the father he hardly knew, all here together with him by the frozen remains of his sister. It seemed...unbelievable. "How did...all this happen?" Dib wondered, rubbing at his forehead.

As the droid plodded forward, Zxhermnskilek exchanged glances with the Professor before directing an uncertain look at the Irken. "Hey. Invader thing."

"Ehn?" Zim perked up, seeming a bit annoyed at the other's seemingly impolite speech.

"You has ship, yes?"

"We're not sure if it works yet," Dib told him, before the Irken could find something to be offended by so as to start yelling and generally be an exhausting nuisance.

"Good. I fix for you. So you-" The Krakemeth jabbed a finger at the smaller alien. "-shut down for while to better recover. Human boy need, ehh...private talk." For a moment, he waved a dual-arm around helplessly before wheezing in irritation, then jabbering in some unclear language. Eyes slightly unfocused, Zim listened for only a few moments before shrugging, mumbling a sentence or two in the same incomprehensible language, and slumping back against the wall to slip into a brief hibernation.

Dib looked from Zim to the other alien uncertainly. "Bit compliant, wasn't he? I would have had to yell at him for over an hour to make him do that."

Zxhermnskilek swiveled his eyes. "Irken know what best for self – all Irken do. Why else my kind here?" The Membrane household came into view, but it was now the last thing on Dib's mind.

"What...what do you mean?"

"Tall Ones afraid. Irken Zim is...danger to others – other Irken like him. If one want destroy Irken race, all one need is that one Irken. All one need is Zim," the Krakemeth explained, slowing the droid to a stop in front of what would soon no longer be Dib's home, the covershield sliding open and Zxhermnskilek dragging himself out with a low grunt. He held a small data pad in one of four hands and a slender metal box in another.

Clambering down to leave his father to carry out the once again unconscious Irken, Dib jogged after the lumbering alien – who was surprisingly mobile despite his size and seemingly unwieldy appendages. "Your race is here because of _Zim_?"

"Somewhat, perhaps," Zxhermnskilek rumbled in response, and, taking note of the dark look that had begun to spread on the boy's face, added, "You will blame one who save you, rather than ones truly at fault? Your Irken not know the hate of his Tall Ones – not realize his exile. Banished many times, that one, yet he always come back. He...too stupid to realize, too stupid to fault."

"And maybe he's just too _stubborn _to realize," Dib muttered as he opened the garage door and uncovered Tak's ship – the baby had fallen asleep within, tiny hand curled around one of her toys. "I had a feeling he had something to do with this. I just...I _knew_ it."

"You not sound so convinced, but...ehh. Whatever you think sound smart." With that, the Krakemeth began to circle around the ship, tapping at the data pad he carried.

Dib started to retort, but quieted himself as Professor Membrane stepped up next to him; Zim lay curled in his arms, breathing only lightly as one antenna twitched. "He has a point, son."

"Does he?" the teen responded sourly, looking away.

"Are you really going to hate him for something his leaders have done?"

"In case you failed to notice, Dad, I hated him before."

The Professor laughed a bit, moving forward to place the Irken inside the vessel – the baby murmured in her sleep and instinctively latched on to the familiar somewhat-warm body. "If you say so, son." He looked to his companion then. "Everything going well, I trust?"

Zxhermnskilek grunted lowly, eyes roving over the data pad. "Better than first thought. It only need slight work – I fix ship body, Irken fix programs with PAK, it work fine." He set the data pad aside to pull a small tool from the metal box he held, flicked it on, and set to work.

"Why are you helping us, anyway?" Dib asked. "I mean, it's...great that you are, don't get me wrong, it's just...I don't see what's in it for you."

"Not much, to tell truth. But, I not like how my kind ally with Irken so easy, for such meager task. Make impossible for Irken to rejoin other Irken – ruin mission of Irken – perhaps kill Irken. Seem...dishonorable, I think." Cutting bits and pieces of metal away, arranging wires, and welding the bits back into place, the alien shrugged. "Many my people not like ally with Irken, so with others, I offer find alternative – different way."

"A different way to what?"

"I already say best way to destroy Irken, yes?"

At that, the teen fell silent, looking over at Zim, who had unconsciously shifted closer to the infant they had rescued. "...Is he really that much of a threat? To his own race?" he wondered.

For a moment the only reply was the buzz of a laser tool against the ship's hull. Then, the Krakemeth peered over at him and replied quietly, "He already almost destroy race several time. Like I say – he stupid. ...Well...stupid, he is, but many other race need him. You have key to free many from oppression of Irken – Zim not ready for truth, may be not ready for long while. But, someday he learn."

"It'll probably just make him miserable," Dib told him.

"Probably," Zxhermnskilek agreed. "But he not be miserable forever."

"He'd go on a rampage after that," the teen laughed, and the serious looks that both his father and this strange Krakemeth gave him had him quieting, thinking about what it might mean. He glanced over at Zim again, pondering. "...That destructive, huh?"

As Professor Membrane gave him a supportive pat on the shoulder, Zxhermnskilek spoke up again. "Very much. Is why need you – to keep Irken from trouble before he ready. He no doubt know place to go, place to hide now that mission ruined. Tall Ones were told he dead, so he safe for moment."

Dib emitted a little snort, crossing his arms and leaning up against the garage wall. "I still don't see why I should have to keep him safe – he's still largely at fault for all this."

"I know it's hard on you, son, but you have to understand that this is for a greater cause," Membrane sighed. "What's left of our race will persevere, as we always have-"

"I help, with Vxxeth. Vxxethasylcb forget point at first, I think, but he find human to interest – have nice girl for company, I think, too." Zxhermnskilek dissolved into a fit of gurgles, sliding back behind the ship to weld a sheet of metal in place, clearly an attempt (albeit a failed one) to hide his mirth.

Professor Membrane pursed his lips at that, seeming to find it a tad distasteful, but he refrained from commenting on it. Instead, he continued from where he left off. "Ah, yes – our companion here has offered a safe refuge for a number of survivors."

"Commit genocide often, our kind, but we not too cruel. Not like Irken, at least." Beginning to untangle and reroute wires, Zxhermnskilek hummed oddly for a moment before asking, "You understand now, boy? Irken race as whole at fault, Zim best way to fight back. He trust you-"

"He doesn't trust me."

"If not, then you be dead now. He trust you, if only somewhat. One Irken not make ally with alien he not trust; certainly not protect alien, either. But he protect you. So now you must do same, for the sake of many. Make sure he trust you, so when time come for him to learn, he act on your behalf." Sliding a small cover back over the wires he'd been fixing, he finished bluntly, "Dib-boy already place wellbeing of others above own, yes? So it not much different."

At Dib's curious expression, his father leaned down to mutter, "Seems your exploits with your foreign friend were somewhat of an amusement for the Irken race – or something to that effect."

"Oh, great," the boy muttered irritably. So he was a laughingstock amongst the Irken race, too. Lovely. "Wait, so...Zxherm...you didn't happen to mistake my dad for me, right?" There was a heavy amount of silence as the Krakemeth put the last finishing touches on the vessel, and Dib sighed. "You did, didn't you?"

"It all worked out, though, didn't it?" Membrane stated cheerfully.

A little too well where you're concerned, Dib wanted to reply, though he kept it to himself – in just the past few hours, the Professor had done more for his son than he had during most of the teen's entire life. And, honestly, he really was grateful for that. It wouldn't make up for a whole childhood of a mostly absent father, but the feeling was still there.

"Hmm...yeah, I guess it did, a little."

Professor Membrane chuckled lightly, adding, "Could have gone better, though."

That had Dib giving a derisive laugh. "Well, _yeah_."

Zxhermnskilek flicked a side panel shut, patting the ship's hull and meandering back from it slightly. "All finish. We go now, tell Vxxeth to keep watch, make sure you pass mothership safely. He maybe contact, ensure your Irken not try return to Tall Ones."

"Uh...yeah, okay." With a curt nod, Zxhermnskilek turned back towards his droid, motioning for the professor to follow with a wave of a dual-arm. "Hey, uh-! Thanks!" Dib called after him. Zxhermnskilek paused for a moment, glancing back at the teen uncertainly. "Thanks, Zxherm. You...you really helped us out a lot."

"I know. No need thanks, but is good you can extend courtesy to alien. I honestly not sure you could. Diplomacy maybe...not your strong point?"

"Uh...what's with the sarcasm? I was _trying_ to be nice."

"That my point."

Dib bit back an exasperated groan. "Oh, whatever! Just...thanks, and try to keep my dad from messing with too much stuff that might explode." Gurgling, Zxhermnskilek nodded and gave an absent-minded wave as he plopped back inside his droid. "And Dad, uh...don't...mess with stuff that explodes."

"I'll try my best not to, son," Membrane chuckled. "You'd best be on your way, as well."

"Ah...yeah."

An awkward silence passed between them, before the elder man brought himself to speak. "What you asked me earlier...if there was anything I wanted to say to you. And...yes, there is." He extended a gloved hand, and though he seemed conflicted, uncertain, his gaze didn't leave his son's. "I'd like to apologize."

Dib glanced to the offered hand, then back up at his father, before sighing and shaking his head. "I'm...not going to forgive you, if that's what you're hoping for. But..." He scooted closer, giving the man a tentative hug. "Either way, though...you were able to be here, when I needed you most. And...that means a lot to me, Dad."

Hesitantly, the professor returned the embrace; they were quick to part, however, having rarely even managed conversations in all their time together – hugs were asking quite a lot of the both of them. "Ah, that's...I...I'm glad I could...well, um..."

"You should...probably get going," Dib managed, trying to laugh a little. This was all so surreal – when was the last time he and the Professor had seen eye-to-eye on anything? And now to try to part ways on a positive note (or at least an only slightly flat note)...

"Ah, yes. Zxherm might be getting a tad annoyed. I'll be...on my way, then." One last pat to the shoulder, and a ruffling of hair – despite the tug of tangles, it felt natural, more like what a parent might do – and then Professor Membrane stepped back, headed towards the patiently waiting Krakemeth and his droid.

Returning the wave from his father, Dib called to him, "I'll see you and Gaz again, right?"

"I don't see why not," came the reply. The covershield began to slide shut, and the Professor seemed to remember something. "Oh, and one last thing!"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Don't forget to use protection!" With that final statement, the plexiglass snapped shut, and Dib could only yell one thing after the droid as it plodded off into the night.

"_Dammit, Dad, I told you it's not like that!_"

* * *

Aww, Dib, you're so totally in denial. (Or maybe I'm describing myself with that statement?) Either way, I find making things awkward for Dib quite amusing. I think it's a bit obvious, yes?

Anyway, next chapter will hopefully be up in a week or so. Only two more to go!


	19. In which a baby is coddled

I think this might be the longest chapter yet, but considering that the end is nearing, maybe that's okay.

Or maybe it's not, but either way, I don't care. 8D

(Addendum - This is the longest chapter. This is also the chapter with the most incredibly blatant references to Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.)

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen – In which a baby is coddled**

The very first thing Zim was aware of upon coming out of his brief period of shutdown was that there was a very unpleasant _thing_ shoved up near him. And of course, the very first thing he thought to do was to push that unpleasant thing away – unfortunately, he'd forgotten the noodle-like quality his arms had recently taken on, so all it really accomplished was making the thing whine at him in a terribly familiar and equally unpleasant voice.

"Zim, will you _wake up_ already? I kind of need your help." And then the thing started shaking him. Okay, now _that_ was really the last straw!

He was just about to smack some sense into the annoying thing when the implications of his noodle-arms made their full impact (that is, he wasn't going to be able to make the inferior creature _go away_), and thus he instead groaned in exasperation. It was a good thing his vocalization organs were all in working order, else he'd be quite frustrated at not being able to show his...well...frustration. But show it he did, in his typical only-vaguely-rational manner. "Go stick yer head in a pig," he grumbled, managing to do something akin to waving one arm about in hopes of it landing a hit.

It failed to, but it didn't really matter anyway; at the least, it would've only been the equivalent of having a gnat land on oneself.

When the whatsit seemed to take the hint and refrained from any further spewing of the spoken word in its rather annoying fashion, Zim was able to further take into consideration his condition and surroundings. He had a headache and was uncomfortably cramped, that much was certain, and a much smaller whatsit lay curled up next to him – the infant, he presumed. Wherever he was stank of human, yet there remained a distinctive hint of the familiar sterile smell of his own kind; no doubt he was resting in the command chair of Tak's ship.

But what was that squishy _something_ under his head?

It took a load of effort to crack open an eye, but the Irken managed the chore admirably – he even went so far as to glare at the enormous peach _thing_ hovering nearby. He couldn't quite make out exactly what it was, but could only conclude that said enormous peach thing was Dib's head. Nothing else could truly be _that_ gigantic; Zim didn't even _need_ his optical implants to finish adjusting to recognize its sheer size.

Systems finally realizing he was indeed out of his brief hibernation, Zim shook off the sluggish feeling any other inferior species might have referred to as 'sleepiness' and sat up. It took a bit of doing, as there seemed to be a severe shortage of areas in which he could move his appendages without them whacking into things, but again, he managed it quite well.

He spent the first few moments of his renewed upright position just frowning - first at the fact that he was more or less shoved up against something rather unpleasant, then at the unpleasant thing itself, which had unsurprisingly turned out to be the Dib. And just in case he hadn't done enough frowning, he frowned some more when he spotted the source of the head-supporting squish.

"Why are there fabricky marshmallows shoved up next to the command chair?" A legitimate question, in his opinion, but by the look on Dib's face, his quite-clearly-inferior ally seemed to think otherwise.

Motioning to the space around them – or lack thereof – Dib replied, "There wasn't enough room, so I figured I'd do what I could to fix it. And they're called pillows, by the way." At the following unimpressed snort from the Irken, he added irritably, "It was the best I could do, all right?"

Zim merely grunted in response, tugging the pillows on his side of the command chair out and tossing them into Dib's face. "If you weren't so stupid, you'd have figured out a better way." Not at all bothered by the dark look the teen shot at him, he gestured towards the pillows on the other side with a particularly obnoxious haughty smirk. "Remove those, and Zim shall fix all problems!"

The Irken paused for a moment, lips pursed as he stared at Dib, before he corrected himself. "Well, _most_ problems. I can't fix your smelly human-ness."

"Like I'd want to be 'fixed' in the first place," Dib retorted, scowling at Zim as he grudgingly did as requested (ordered, technically – Irkens weren't altogether great at requesting things from non-Irkens). "You didn't have to throw those at me, you know."

Sticking out his tongue, Zim otherwise ignored him, and instead scooped up the infant to plop her onto his lap; she whined and squirmed in displeasure at the action, having been in the middle of a nice nap, but was quick to calm when no more sudden movements followed. She didn't fall back to sleep, however, more interested in blearily staring at the console as Zim tapped in commands, causing the computer to emit beeps every now and then.

"_Well_. If you're not even going to _try_ to be more courteous, then I'm not going to ask if you're feeling better now. I didn't even care in the first place," Dib huffed, slouching back and picking at the threads of the last pillow he'd tugged from between the pilot seat and the wall. He looked quite pathetic.

"Mmhmm," Zim responded dully in a manner that suggested quite clearly that he was only pretending to listen, and also wasn't even going to be bothered to pretend he was interested. Instead, he busied himself with the various buttons before him; one had a panel sliding open, spindly mechanical arms tucking away their supply bags into storage, another emitted an oddly unhappy-sounding _blat_ and seemed to serve no further function other than to make funny noises. (Whether it was meant to do something or not, it had the baby laughing.)

At the last push of a button, gears somewhere in the ship began to shift, and the cockpit slowly adjusted itself; the command chair slid back to allow more leg room before widening to rest flush against the inner walls. Needless to say, the two rivals-turned-allies were quite relieved at being able to put an additional and altogether amazing _six inches_ between them.

Tossing the pillow aside (it was quickly claimed as a cuddly plaything by the infant, and was just as quickly discarded due to being boring), Dib leaned forward to bring up the main menus, tapping through them as he spoke. "Okay, so the ship itself is pretty much good to go. According to Zxherm, the only thing left to do is scan through all the programming and have your PAK work out all the bugs."

"Mmm, yes, and he's clearly the expert on Irkens and our technology," Zim replied blandly.

"Uh, well...you _can_ do that, right?"

"Of _course _Zim can do it! Any Irken – no, any _smeet_ – with a working PAK can do it!" Zim spat.

Dib grimaced a bit; why'd the Irken have to be so incredibly _loud_ when they were only a foot apart? "Wasn't your PAK damaged?"

"Oh, that was fixed ages ago," the alien shrugged. "You need not be so worried about Zim's health, Dib-smelly, for Zim is _amazing_!"

"I didn't say I was worried."

It was obviously a very unconvincing argument. "Of course you didn't." Apparently considering the conversation over, Zim pulled an opaque cord from his PAK, fitting the end into a small outlet on the console; immediately, an energy current surged through the cable, feeding streams of data between computer and Irken.

Watching uncertainly, Dib drummed his fingers against his leg, feeling terribly jittery all of a sudden. What if Gaz _had_ booby-trapped the ship just to mess with him? What if Zim wasn't able to fix what problems might come up? He just felt as though there were so many things that could go wrong at this critical moment, and the fact that he had to rely on the help of various genocidal aliens wasn't calming his fears in the least.

"Quit staring at me."

Dib jumped a bit, startled. "Huh?"

The Irken frowned at him, antennae slightly flattened. "You're staring – it's creepy."

"Oh, uh...sorry, I guess. I was just...thinking." Shifting his gaze to the control panel, Dib bit at his lip for a moment, then glanced upward, out past the confines of the Spittle Runner to a world he'd probably never see again. "...I never got a good picture of Bigfoot," he muttered sullenly.

Zim turned somewhat to give him an odd look. "Ehn? What's that matter?"

"I was trying to convince myself otherwise, but that's exactly it," Dib sighed. "It _doesn't_ matter. Not now, anyway."

For a moment the alien didn't respond, tugging the cord from the console, then having to stop and tug it from the infant, who had apparently viewed it as some sort of silly object to be played with. "_No_ – bad smeet!" After giving her a quick flick to the forehead (despite that she didn't actually consider it punishment), Zim retracted the cord back into his PAK and returned his gaze to Dib. "Why mention it, then? Or does that not matter, either?"

Rubbing at his forehead with his palm, Dib answered quietly, "I guess it really doesn't. It's just...I should be way more upset about leaving my home planet, but all I can think about is all the things I'll be able to see once we leave. It's like everything that used to be important just..." He stopped then, directing a quizzical look at the Irken next to him. "This means absolutely nothing to you, doesn't it?"

Zim only shrugged – which was as much of a 'no' as 'no' itself was. "Tell me, Dib-thing, did you reprogram the ship yourself?"

"Gaz fixed some of the flight systems, but otherwise yeah, I did most of the work. Why?"

Looking back and forth between the ship console and Dib, Zim seemed quite conflicted. Then, he grudgingly mumbled, so low that the teen had to strain to hear it, "Satisfactory, I suppose. Couldn't have been that hard, anyway; simple ship, simple programming. No other reason for Zim having nothing to fix."

"It's working?" Dib exclaimed excitedly, before realizing something. "Wait, were...were you trying to compliment me?"

"Zim compliments _no one_! You reprogrammed a simple system – there is absolutely _nothing_ impressive about that!"

They both knew otherwise, though; Tak's ship was custom-built through and through, sophisticated and complex, perhaps even to most Irkens. Regardless, Dib bit back his response - a compliment from Zim, however masked it was, wasn't something to be taken lightly. "Well, if it's working, what are we still doing here?" he asked, snapping the covershield shut with a push of a button, a slight grin on his face as he reached for the controls-

-just as Zim grabbed for the levers. "What do you think you're doing?" the Irken huffed, giving him a challenging glare.

"Oh, no, Zim. _You're_ not flying it – _I_ am."

"Absolutely not! This ship is Irken property!" Zim snapped, swatting at Dib's hands.

It did little, if anything, to sway him. "As if! The ship is mine, I found it fair and square!"

"It crashed into your backyard, that's _hardly_ finding it!"

"That doesn't change the fact that it's _my_ ship! I know the controls better than you!" Dib exclaimed, growing more and more irritated by the second. Of _course_ Zim had to make a big deal over something as stupid as who got to pilot when it was clear that _he_ was the one that ought to.

Hell, Zim crashed all the time, anyway.

No contest, right?

The alien growled and tugged at the controls, and the two nearly tumbled over when the Spittle Runner suddenly lurched sideways to slam into the garage wall, leaving a gaping hole. Zim only managed to keep the infant on his lap out of reflex, grabbing her before she fell to the floor. "Oh, _nice one_!" he spat when the baby clearly voiced her distress, clutching at the Irken as she cried.

Throwing his arms up in frustration, the human yelled back, "That was _your fault_! Don't yell at _me_!"

"You're making the smeet whine! Silence your ugly mouth-parts and just let Zim pilot!" Zim snapped in response, freeing one hand from the infant's insistent grip to reach for the controls. Dib hastily smacked his hand away, bringing him to complain, "You don't even know how to get to where we're going!"

Rolling his eyes, Dib replied sarcastically, "So where _are_ we going, oh all-knowing Irken?"

"The Massive, of course!" Zim huffed.

Alarm bells immediately went off in Dib's mind – the _Massive_? The Irken capital ship? Why, of all places, did the alien want to go _there_? His leaders would _kill_ him!

Oh...but...Zim didn't know that they knew of his failure; didn't know that they'd devised the whole thing themselves...

Okay...he could deal with this. He was only hiding a potentially devastating secret from Zim that would turn everything the Irken knew upside-down; not a big deal, not at all.

It was for Zim's own good – for the good of all the alien species the Irken empire had enslaved.

For the good of the last remnants of his own race.

Taking a deep breath and steadying himself, Dib stated firmly, "No. No, we're not. We're staying as far from your empire as we can."

"But-!" the Irken started.

"No, Zim! No buts! We're not going to argue about this!" Dib cut him off, glaring fiercely. "Who gets to pilot the ship is one thing, but where we're going is a different one altogether. I don't want anything to do with the rest of your race, and trust me, you'll _thank me_ for it once we're out of this mess."

An antenna quirked, Zim caught off-guard enough by the last bit to where he didn't even put up a fight when Dib took hold of the levers. One twist had the ship backing out of the hole the Irken had accidentally created in the wall, another had it tilting towards the sky, and then – before Zim could get in a word of dissent – he slammed the controls forward, and with a roar of its engines, the Spittle Runner took flight for the first time in years.

The vessel climbed higher and higher, gaining speed as it careened past clouds and through the thinning atmosphere of planet Earth – and inside the ship, Dib found himself pressed back against the seat by the alarming force of _physics_. Next to him, Zim shrieked over the baby's shrieks, "_YOU DIDN'T EVEN ADJUST THE G-FORCE COMPENSATORS?!_"

Only managing a slight squeak of terror, Dib didn't even respond as the Irken strained forward to slam the hand not curled protectively around the infant against the controls before he was forced back against the command chair once more. The strange and unhappy-sounding _blat_ sounded again, followed by a familiar voice. **"Back-up personality data reinstated – voice command back online."**

"Computer, adjust G-force compensators! Quickly!" Zim screeched.

"Was that _Tak's_ personality data?!" Dib exclaimed, horrified. "I thought I got rid of that!"

Zim only gave a strangled sound of frustration, lost in the roar of jets and the baby's wails, before he yelled back, "I don't care if it is so long as it'll-" All movement seemed to come to a sudden stop, and the Irken cut himself short, finding that he was able to move freely once again. "Ah, there we go!"

"**Yes, you're _welcome_,"** the computer responded in a tone that was surprisingly snarky, especially considering that it only had artificial intelligence. **"But if you yell at me again, I swear I'll eject you."**

Before Zim could say anything that might set the ship off (especially since its personality was that of another Irken who hated him), Dib spoke up. "We'll keep that in mind, thanks." When the computer only bleeped in response, he shrugged and reclaimed the controls with only a slight bit of hesitance – he'd apparently done _something_ right when working on the ship all those years ago, especially if Tak's personality was now seemingly willing to tolerate his presence.

The vastness of space lay spread out before them, ink-black and streamed with starlight, as the Spittle Runner continued onward, the roar of the engine fading to little more than a subtle hum. And while Dib was more worried about the immense alien warship plainly visible beyond Earth's orbit, Zim had something else on his mind. "It's just an AI, you don't have to be all polite to it," he told the teen, one antenna perked in amusement. "It wouldn't really eject us."

"In case you forgot, it tried to kill me when I was a kid. Your fault, by the way," Dib reminded him flatly. "I'm still wondering why it changed its mind."

Zim chuckled a bit, bouncing the still-crying infant on his lap – when it failed to calm her, he rolled his eyes and gave in to her demanding grabby hands, lifting her up and allowing her to snuggle against him. "Without a doubt, it's because _Zim_ is here." He curled up a bit around the baby, who – now that the uncomfortable force and noise was gone and she was being securely held – quieted some, rubbing her wet face against the Irken's ruined uniform; he grimaced a bit at the somewhat irritating tingle the water from her tears caused, but otherwise ignored the sensation, more intent on teasing Dib. "It probably considers you a slave of the Empire, as you should rightfully be."

"Do you _want_ me to never bathe again?" Dib retorted, a clear warning hint to his tone.

The Irken made a face and scooted away as best he could, and the computer took it in itself to speak up dully. **"Actually, I just wanted to get out of that musty storage space. It was just about driving me insane."**

"So you haven't ejected us because we helped you?" Dib asked.

"**I'm not ejecting _you_ because _you_ helped me. Zim, on the other hand, I _really_ want to eject, because he's a moron and a threat to the entire Irken civilization,"** Tak's personality responded, getting an offended exclamation of sorts from Zim. **"But I won't. What with your needing to escape Earth and all, I'm guessing Zim screwed up royally, and that's enough to keep me satisfied. ...By the way, you're being hailed."**

Zim's eyes bugged out at that, and he looked around frantically for somewhere to hide – as if there _were_ any hiding places in a tiny ship meant for a single person. Quietly groaning, Dib could only hope to whatever higher powers existed that it was the 'Vxxethasylcb' person Zxhermnskilek had mentioned, and not some other Krakemeth who would blast them to pieces just for the fun of it. "Thanks, computer. Uh...put them through, I guess."

Ignoring Zim's hissed protest, he clasped his fingers together and rested his hands against the control panel as the Spittle Runner slowed to a stop, and as a video connection was established, the teen also ignored (or tried to ignore) all the millions of _other _things that could go wrong now. The visage of a Krakemeth appeared on-screen, drawing fearful whimpers from the infant until she tucked her head against Zim, and before any tension whatsoever could be built up, the thing screeched, "Human scum! And Irken scum! Sergeant, Sergeant! Alien scum! Oh, oh, I know you!" It flailed at Zim with a dual-arm. "Sergeant, the Irken thing is still alive!"

Before either of the Irken vessel's occupants could be appropriately terrified by the turn of events, a plasma shot sounded, and the Krakemeth on-screen fell off its perch, shrieking in pain as another of its kind ambled forth to take its spot. "_You shot__ me! You shot me in the pleenkth_!" the first creature howled from its spot on the floor.

The new arrival stared down at his injured companion for a moment before stating pleasantly, "Yes, so it seems," and turning to consider the so-called 'alien scum'. A few low-pitched gurgles escaped him when he looked over the more Irken of the two.

"Hey..." Zim started, recognition clear in his expression. "I remember you! You tried to squash me! Ehh, what was it...Zetthy-sylib!"

The sergeant grimaced, but patiently replied, "Um, yes. Quite." He then regarded Dib with squinted eyes before grinning widely – it wasn't an altogether nice-looking display, but it still managed to bring relief to the boy when it was accompanied by, "So Zxherm did his job well, got you and your tiny friends all safe-like, yes?"

Dib gave a little shrug. "I guess so. I mean, we're still here, after all. He helped a lot."

"**I helped, too,"** the computer piped up.

"Wonderful, absolutely," Vxxethasylcb responded with an enthusiastic nod. "And little Irken Zim, quite impressive running. Very impressive; fooled everyone, I think."

"I'm _not _little – for your information, Zim's height is worthy of _respect_ and _admiration_ now!" Thanks to a most-likely illegal device of his own making, sure, but he wasn't about to openly admit that - _ever_. "And you almost _squashed _Zim!" the Irken spat in reply, glaring with all his might.

The Krakemeth seemed bemused, tilting his head somewhat, and apparently not even noticing that his companion was still screaming in pain on the floor next to him. "Oh, really now? I thought you meant for me to do that. The shut-down was a nice touch, very very nice. Impressive little thing, isn't he, crew?" The few Krakemeth nearby grated out their agreements (save for the one on the ground, who just screamed some more).

From the frazzled look on Zim's face, he wasn't sure whether he was being insulted or praised, and to save himself the aggravation, he gave up trying to figure it out. Instead, he cuddled up against the baby in a rather huffy manner, glaring at the wall nearest him.

"So, um...Vxxethasylcb, was it?" Dib asked hesitantly, getting a grunt that sounded somewhat like an agreement from the alien on-screen. "Zxherm told us that you'd be able to get us past the-"

"Yes, I can. Yes," Vxxethasylcb interrupted, expression darkening somewhat. "I can get you past. Get you present and future, too." He then frowned at Dib in a way that seemed to mean 'shut up or you'll get me in trouble'. (Of course, the boy couldn't be completely certain, as he often tended to be horribly wrong when it came to whatever points an alien was actually intending to get across.)

Managing a weak laugh, the teen nodded. "Yeah, that's...exactly. That's exactly what I meant. So, uh...you'll get us...future."

"We're going to Milliway's?" Zim asked hesitantly, seeming completely bemused by the sudden change in conversation. Not only that, but why was this Krakemeth who had tried to squish him – him, ZIM, of all people! – suddenly being so cheerful-friendly? "I don't even like the food there – those stupid Ameglian cows always begging you to eat them, and that end of the universe thing is _really_ getting old!"

"We're..._what_? ...Actually, no. No, never mind. I don't even _want_ to know." Shaking his head in disbelief, Dib turned back to Vxxethasylcb, who was immersed in another fit of low gurgles.

"So you want future. Can do, can do," the Krakemeth grated out past his sounds of amusement - which only made Dib that much more certain that he definitely did _not_ want to know what was so funny. "Irken Zim, I presume you know Galactic Sector QQ7 Active J Gamma?"

A slight frown made itself known on Zim's face, and he replied sullenly, "Most respectable Irkens pretend not to."

A wave of a dual-hand followed the statement, Vxxethasylcb gurgling again. "Not much time left for you to feign such things as _being respectable_. I'll be honest with you-"

"Vxxeth!" Dib spoke up hastily, getting a curious look from the larger alien. "He...wasn't awake when Zxherm and I were...discussing those things."

"Well aware of it, Dib-boy, don't worry your large head," the Krakemeth replied patiently before returning his gaze to Zim, all the while gurgling at the offended exclamation from the human. "From QQ7 Active J Gamma, forty-five degrees – sans active, plus plural – three beyond gamma. Future there is...good."

The Irken seemed to ponder over it for a moment before exclaiming, "What?! That's like...space ghettos! It's in the middle of nowhere!"

"Space ghettos..." Dib mumbled to himself, making a strange face.

"Rather nice, from what I've seen," Vxxethasylcb told the ex-Invader with a wave of two hands. "Good future, one would think. Yes?" His crew murmured amongst each other and nodded – the one who'd been shot had quieted. Perhaps he'd fainted from blood loss.

Zim shook his head frantically. "Absolutely _not_! This is stupid! I'm going back to the Massive, and I'll just tell the Tallests-"

"Your Tallests have already been informed."

"That's what I was _saying_, weren't you listening?! I'll tell them that-" Zim trailed off, suddenly uncertain. "What?"

"Our hive-mothers have reported to your Tallests on the status of the human race – bordering on extinction – as well as to your supposed living status – nonexistent," Vxxethasylcb told him. "Shut down for the remainder of all time. Data scattered to the solar winds. Deactivated. In the most simple of terms: dead." After pausing for a moment to let it sink in, he added, "You're aware of what will happen if you return as a failure?"

Zim averted his eyes to stare down at the infant, who had hid her face against him to block out the sight of the creatures who had left her as an orphan, and curled tighter around her, as though she would keep such things from happening if he went back to face his Tallests. "...Every Irken does."

"You know where to go, then." Vxxethasylcb emitted a drawn-out huff, a mostly unclear action, though he seemed a bit regretful. "If it makes you feel better, though, you can pretend not to know."

Tentatively, Dib spoke up. "Uh...is it just me, or is the whole 'being vague' thing not really...being vague at all?"

"Hrn? We weren't being vague. Not at all," the Krakemeth replied, tone betraying a bit of mirth.

"Wha- Yes, you were!"

"I escort you past mothership, your Irken takes you to empire-free sector near QQ7 Active J Gamma, and we all live happily ever after until something more amusing comes along." A motion similar to a shrug followed this. "Seems pretty not-vague to me."

Dib smacked a hand to his forehead. "I swear, you aliens are all just trying to mess with me!" he groaned, tugging at his hair.

"If you wouldn't be so funny, maybe we wouldn't. Try to be less funny. It might help," Vxxethasylcb suggested pleasantly; it was advice that would have bothered Dib more if the Irken seated next to him had actually managed a snicker or two at his expense. He almost directed a concerned look to Zim – _almost_ – but caught himself just in time, and was further distracted when the other alien spoke up again. "We should go now – you will follow alongside, and keep out of sight of our mothership. The hive mothers aren't so easily fooled, and aren't quite so..." He waved one hand about, searching for the word.

"Easily amused?" Dib finished flatly, a brow raised.

"Mmmmm...perhaps that's it. Maybe," the Krakemeth admitted with a half-shrug. "My crew will ensure you leave Sector ZZ9 Plural Z Alpha in one piece. I, on the other hand, have a previous engagement with a now-single human mother." With that, the transmission cut off, and Dib was left with a very nasty taste in the back of his mouth at the insinuation.

After directing the computer to follow the Krakemeth ship's movements and managing to get only _one _snarky comment in response, the teen leaned back in the command chair with a long sigh of relief. "That was...the closest thing to a nightmare as...that thing on Halloween. ...Man...that was freaky." He glanced to Zim, who had become unnervingly silent; the Irken was gazing down at the baby in his arms with a dull expression, hardly even appearing to notice that she was sucking on one gloved finger. "...Zim?"

"What else did the other tentacley tell you? The one who spoke like a stupid?" the alien muttered.

Dib hastily looked away, though figured that if he wanted to seem as though he wasn't hiding anything, that was the pretty much the worst thing he could do. Forcing himself to return his gaze to its initial focus, he responded as casually as he could, "Aside from their saving a handful of my kind, that was basically it."

Scoffing, Zim tugged his finger free, wiping it on the command chair. "Why didn't you tell Zim?" he asked blandly, eyes flicking upwards to meet Dib's, expression void of anything that could be considered weak – sorrow, pain, self-pity. If Dib didn't know any better, he'd say Zim didn't even care, that it was no more important to the Irken than picking out a snack.

"I...didn't think you'd need to know," Dib lied with almost alarming smoothness. "I thought we'd just be going...wherever it is we're going now."

"Resortia," Zim grumbled. "It's been self-ruled for eons."

"Name's not very creative," the teen pointed out.

The Irken shrugged one shoulder, unconcerned. "Doesn't have to be. It's descriptive."

"I guess," Dib conceded. He stared out the covershield at the expanse of stars, feeling surprisingly at ease with everything – it seemed the worst of it was over. If it kept on going like this, he could probably deal with that. He could even deal with babysitting the prospective key to the fall of the Irken Empire. After a length of silence, he glanced back to Zim. "So...space ghettos, huh?"

"Mmhmm."

"Well," Dib sighed, leaning back against the pilot seat with arms crossed behind his head. "Sounds good to me."

"And that's why you're an inferior meat-sack."

* * *

You tell him, Zim!

The next and final chapter should be up in about a week, hopefully. After that, any later updates that might occur will mean that I have indeed begun a sequel. Said sequel will be something that most anti-ZADR fans of the show should avoid reading at all cost, as it will be a kind of ZADR. The kind that...well...isn't actually all that romantic, because that's out of character. And unfortunately for some, there will be no smut - despite that I often ignore the fact (usually for the lulz), Irkens don't have the required organs in canon, which I've been attempting to stick to for this fic.

Also, I'm not going to post up the sequel as an entirely separate fic because I find that kind of thing obnoxious.

I sure hope I'm not the only one who feels that way, else I'll feel kind of silly.


	20. In which there is Hope

Oh man. The last chapter. I can't believe I made it to the end, and in a little less than a year! (Which is how long it _actually_ took me to write this whole thing. XD) Could be better, as always, but I like it anyway.

Holy crap, I actually finished a fic. A LONG fic!

I've NEVER done that before! Holy...

WOW.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty – In which there is Hope **

It seemed as though hours had passed, Krakemeth ship floating silently alongside the Spittle Runner – past Venus, past Mercury, Sol's light near-blinding as they soared by. It would be safer this way, hidden by the brilliance of the star when the other vessel would no longer hide them, its job finished.

Everything was in Dib's hands now.

The Irken seated next to him, arms curled securely around a squirming baby, was clearly still in a grumpy mood, as he hadn't said anything more than the coordinates (TT4 Plural M Zeta), the reiterated fact that it was a 'space ghetto', and that Dib's head was still quite impossibly large. He had then spent a subsequent large amount of time glaring at absolutely nothing, antennae flicking in irritation every now and again.

Personally, Dib thought he was being a bit dramatic about the whole ordeal. At least _his_ race hadn't been almost completely eliminated. (He, of course, avoided taking into account that pretty much every other race was hoping Zim would go on a rampage against his own kind someday soon.)

At first, the teen hadn't at all minded the silence – relished it, in fact, since Zim normally left him with a massive ear-ache. But after over two hours of it, with literally nothing to do (not even the scenery was very interesting, being not much more than endless white-speckled black), the novelty quickly wore off.

He was...quite possibly...dying of boredom.

"Hey," Dib muttered, nudging the Irken's leg with his foot.

Zim didn't even look at him.

Pressing on, the boy added, "You're not going to be like this the whole trip, are you?" When there was, as expected, no answer – other than a particularly spiteful glare – Dib sighed and slouched back in the command chair, gazing dully out at the vast expanse beyond. "...Hey, Tak?"

Yet more dreaded silence before the computer figured it would humor him. **"Technically, I'm just her downloaded personality."**

"Don't care. Too bored to care, and calling you Tak is easier." That said, Dib got straight to the point. "D'you have any games or anything?" he asked hopefully, ignoring the unimpressed snort from his alien companion.

A slight and very low buzz sounded for a moment, the ship's equivalent of a thoughtful hum. Then, it spoke up hesitantly, **"Not...really... Do you want to play I Spy?"**

Letting out an exasperated sound, the teen let his head thud down onto the control panel. Forget his earlier thoughts – the worst _wasn't_ over yet.

"**20 questions, then?"**

"Sure. Are we _there_ yet?" Dib groaned.

"**No. Next question, which hopefully won't be so stupid," **the computer replied tartly.

"How long is it going to take?"

"**Sorry, that's not a yes or no question."**

"_Ziiiiiim_," Dib whined then, turning his head to stare helplessly at said Irken, who rolled his eyes at his behavior. Sad, really, seeing as the one usually doing the eye-rolling was Dib.

For a moment all Zim did was blandly return the stare, then he sighed harshly and finally spoke. "It'll take about a week."

Immediately, Dib's eyes bugged out. "A week?! I can't survive a week of constant boredom and _you_! And how am I supposed to get clean, or change, or-" He grimaced at his next thought. "How am I supposed to go to the _bathroom_?"

Zim sneered at that, scooting away as much as he could (that is, not at all). "I did _not_ need to know that about you," he responded matter-of-factly.

"Oh, come off it! You already knew!" Dib snapped at him before addressing the computer, somewhat dreading whatever it would have to say. "Tak, is there anywhere we can stop between here and our destination? _Please_ say yes."

The computer buzzed lowly again, then replied, **"Yes."**

"Where?"

"**That's not a yes or no question."**

The urge to yank on his hair was _quite_ strong, but he kept as calm as he could manage. He ended up tugging on his hair anyway as he yelled, "For God's sake, Tak, I'm not playing 20 questions anymore! Just _answer_ me!"

"**Giving up already? Epic failure if **_**I've**_** ever seen one. I picked an easy word for you, too: recipriversexcluson."**

"I've never even heard that word before," Dib stated flatly.

"**Oh."** The computer didn't sound all too bothered by it, and instead figured it might as well answer the question that had been forced onto its processors. **"There's a handful of filling stations from here to Resortia that we'll be able to stop at for both supplies and...er...bodily functions. You might have to hold it for a while, though; the closest station is still four hours from where we are now."**

Relieved by the answer, Dib gave a slight nod. "Thanks, Tak. At least _someone_ here is being useful." He directed an irritated look at Zim as he said this.

Sticking his tongue out slightly, Zim retorted, "And someone else is being annoying as usual."

"I'm guessing that would be you?" the boy teased, drawing a growl of aggravation from his companion. Zim wasn't able to get in much more than that, though, as the infant in his arms gave a displeased whine and flailed a bit, prompting the Irken to let her down so she could roam about the tiny space to her heart's content. "She still needs a name," Dib informed him (somewhat needlessly). "Did you ever think of one?"

"In case you never noticed, up until recently Zim has been a little preoccupied with not dying," Zim responded dully, antenna quirking as he kept watch over the girl, pushing her hands aside whenever she felt the need to aim them towards the controls. "I still like 'Stinky', though."

Dib frowned at that. "That's not a name."

"**Actually, on Rigel 5, it's a common name derived from that of a religious figure," **Tak's personality chipped in before adding, **"A male, incidentally."**

"So it's a boy's name."

"**Yep, sure is. Of course, there's at least four thousand other planets on which the name is used in numbers higher than 'zero', if you'd like me to elaborate,"** the computer offered pleasantly.

Zim tapped at his chin thoughtfully for a moment. "Any of them for girls?" he asked, pretending not to notice the look Dib shot him that seemed to say 'Why are you actually considering this name?', the answer to which was that it bugged the human, and bugging the human was a welcome alternative to sulking for the next few days.

The expected low buzz emitted from the console before a response came. **"Uh, yes, but most of them are either very uncommon, or not very nice names. Or they're just dumb. There's really only one that's commonly used."**

"And what's that one mean?"

"**Er...literally, 'to stink'.**

Dib directed a quizzical glance to the console, that being the only physical part of the computer he could think to look at (it _was_ basically the whole ship, after all). "How is that not one of the 'not very nice' names?" he wondered out loud.

"**On planet Bespin, home to a race of pig-like creatures, it's a perfectly respectable name."**

"But not anywhere else besides planet Bespin," Zim guessed with an annoyed frown.

Had the computer been able to shrug, it probably would have. **"Not really, no."**

"Well, then, I'm out of ideas," he told Dib, relatively unconcerned about the entire matter. After all, it was just a name. Not like the baby would need something like _that_ anytime soon.

"Why don't you just give her an Irken name?" Dib suggested with as much patience as he could muster – the simple act of naming couldn't be _that _difficult, could it?

Both Zim and computer snapped back at him then, and he figured it was some nonsense along the lines of it being an insult to christen an alien with a superior Irken name. He couldn't really tell, seeing as they were both yelling at him at the same time, so the most he could make out here and there was 'scum' and 'inferior', along with other cruder words he didn't care to dwell on.

Eventually the yelling at Dib turned into Zim and the computer yelling at each other to stop yelling, in order for either one to better yell at the human. A minute or two of this was, admittedly, _quite_ entertaining (in the manner that most things are entertaining after two hours of boredom). Once it got to the point that the two were still arguing after a quarter of an hour, though, Dib felt the need to step in.

"You know what? Forget it. _I'll_ name her!" he exclaimed, though he had to repeat himself loud enough to be heard over the others, then _again_ when it failed to get their attention. Finally, Zim seemed to get the message.

He was appropriately insulted.

"She's _my_ smeet!" Zim protested, scooping her up as if to further prove a point that Dib had more or less already conceded. "Why should _you_ name her?"

Grating out a sigh, Dib pointed out, "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even have her in the first place. I think it's only fair that I get to name her."

Grasping for an idea that didn't involve his once-nemesis naming 'his' smeet, Zim snapped, "Computer! Give me a name for a female smeet! A _good_ name, that will inspire fear and admiration in all who hear it!"

"**I'd suggest Tak, but that's an Irken name."**

"Oh, ha, that's so witty," Zim drawled irritably. "Like that'd ever be an awe-inspiring name anyway. Think of a better one!"

The computer gave a few little bleeps. **"I think I'd like to eject you now."**

The Irken exclaimed 'That's not even a name' somewhere around the same time Dib shouted for the computer to stop threatening them with the eject command, and the next few minutes consisted of the human giving Tak's personality a stern reprimand for its behavior, while Zim complained about the disturbing amount of saliva the baby seemed capable of producing (having not noticed that he'd been threatened at all). Once the AI had offered a grudging apology to an Irken that hadn't even realized one had been in order, they tried over again.

"Remember, computer – a _good_ name!"

"**Well...I've always liked the name Marina," **it offered, though the suggestion was quickly waved away as being 'too watery'. Dib only barely stopped himself from slapping a hand to his forehead in exasperation. **"Uh...Samus, then?"**

Zim groaned. "Ugh, that sounds like a boy's name! These are all terrible! You're not trying hard enough! Dib, I take back what I said about your programming job, you did _awful_!"

"You didn't really say anything good about it in the first place," Dib told him uncertainly, eyes fixated on the baby as he fell silent, pondering. Reaching out a hand, he smiled a bit when she grasped onto a finger, shaking it with a pleased giggle. Zim gave a slight frown, but otherwise allowed the interaction – if it made her happy, he didn't need to interfere, or want to.

She'd probably whine if he did, anyway.

Shrugging off the notion that she was most likely going to end up extremely spoiled, Zim glanced up from the child to her hand, clutched around Dib's finger, then up to Dib himself. "If you can think of a better name than the computer, Zim shall consider it."

A quick look of surprise followed this before Dib simply nodded, returning his gaze to the infant, mumbling to himself as he thought about it. A tiny thing, one of the last remnants of his race – probably the only child, he was certain. Something about her, though, made it seem like it wasn't all bad...that maybe there was, if only just a little, still...

"...Hope."

Zim's eyes narrowed, and he mumbled the word to himself once before frowning again. "That _can't_ be a name."

"It is. Some girl in our eighth grade English class had the same name," Dib confirmed, then paused and wondered quietly, "Or was it Destiny...?"

The Irken stuck out his tongue with a small noise of disgust. "We're certainly not naming her _that_. 'Hope' is a far better name, and that's saying something. It's not that great a name anyway."

Dib's eyes didn't move from the baby's grip on his finger, and he muttered quietly, "I think it suits her."

"Suits...her...?" Zim tilted his head a bit, the concept of a name fitting someone beyond the means of computerized code or appearances a bit baffling to him. It was clearly some strange human sentiment; certainly the name Zim suited a creature as amazing as himself, but that was mere encoding speaking – he had little to no understanding of the subtler descriptive nature of names. Few, if any, Irkens did.

Nevertheless, he stared down at the infant, trying to puzzle out the answer – the reason Dib might think the child corresponded to _Hope_ in his simple human mind. Eventually he gave up, and simply asked why.

The answer he was supplied with, supposed drivel as 'a symbol of humanity's chance of survival' and whatnot, was unsatisfactory, but Zim figured he shouldn't be surprised. Either way, it got him wondering over his own chance for survival – assured, he was certain, but the consequences for that survival might not be to his liking. At least, though, he had a pet, or two if Dib would cooperate, to prove his superiority – yes, that sounded good.

Of course he, Zim, was still superior – there was no way Zim could _not_ be something great, even outside his empire! The little smeet, under his command, may as yet bring him admiration, respect. At least, that was the most he could...

...hope for. Zim scoffed; so _that_ was what it all boiled down to. "Very well."

Startled, Dib jumped a bit, reclaiming his hand from the infant. "What?"

"Hope. It does, as you say, suit her. So, from now on, her name shall be Hope," Zim decided with a sharp nod.

"Oh," Dib responded, seeming a bit surprised. He hadn't been expecting the Irken to go along with it, especially not without a good deal of resistance. "Uh, okay. Cool."

One antenna flicked up at this, Zim looking rather displeased. "Is that all you have so say?"

"What else am I supposed to say?"

"...I dunno. Hey, computer!" A resounding blip sounded, ensuring that the computer was indeed listening. "What do you think of 'Hope' for the smeet's name?"

A measured amount of silence, the low buzzing hum accompanying before the AI replied, **"I guess it's okay. I still like Marina, though."**

"We could make that her middle name," Dib suggested with a little grin – anything to bother Zim and bring a little bit of entertainment to an otherwise mind-numbingly boring trip.

"Too watery!" Zim proclaimed again, tucking the newly named 'Hope' mostly out of sight as though to protect her from such a soggy middle name.

"You realize she's made up of about seventy percent water, right?" Dib laughed – the Irken actually swore at that and held her away from him for a moment, eyes wide and antennae as high as they could go, before realizing that he was being silly. Aside from her tears and saliva, she hadn't burned his skin, so it was quite obviously safe to hold her. "Anyway, it's not like her middle name will ever really matter. It's just kinda...there."

A slight scowl crossed Zim's face. "Why even _have_ a middle name, then?"

"Just to confuse you," the teen joked.

"Hmm. Fine, whatever." The Irken shrugged it off, not really caring if the middle name was as unimportant as Dib had suggested. Tak's personality gave a gleeful noise at Zim's consent before falling silent once more.

Unaware of the entire conversation's meaning, little Hope merely stared up at her protector, smile wide as she reached up towards him with grabby hands – reaching for the twitchy black things she hadn't yet gotten to play with, but the resulting cuddle from the alien was just as good. (It didn't, of course, actually stop her from trying to grab at his antennae.)

Feelers flicking away from the insistent hands, Zim stayed quiet for a while before stating simply, "We'll be stopping at the next filling station."

"Good," Dib responded. "I mean, I shouldn't really complain if your senses are so much better than mine, but...you're really starting to stink."

"It's the glorious stench of battle," Zim drawled coolly, though the somewhat pained expression he carried showed just how much he had to agree. Unlike the human, he hadn't had a chance to replace his uniform, or scrub away the grime, or even wash his hands! Without a doubt, his mysophobic tendencies were screaming at him for a bar of cleansing soap, or _anything_ that would get rid of the germs. But, it would have to wait.

Amused by the conflicted look on the Irken's face, Dib snickered at him. "Battle smells pretty bad, then."

"ARGH! You- you- you infuriating pig-thing! See if I give you the honor of conversing with my amazing Zim-self anymore!" Zim spat, whirling to the console. "Tak, are we there yet?!"

"**Oh my ****_Tallests_, for the second time, _no_! And don't ask me again!"**

"Man, we're like some weird, dysfunctional sitcom family," Dib muttered to himself.

The AI took it in itself to expound on the off-handed comment. **"So if Zim's the one always taking care of Hope, does that make him the mother?"**

Despite Zim's vehement denial, Dib shrugged and nodded. "I guess so."

"**And you're the one keeping everyone all together, breaking up fights and being the intelligent, boring, 'bring home the bacon' kind of guy?"**

"Uh...sure, I guess you could say that. Though I...I'm not _that _boring, I don't think..."

The AI wisely decided not to comment on _that_ particular tidbit. **"So, then...you'd be the father."** Dib only shrugged again, mumbling a vague affirmative before the insinuation sank in and his mouth dropped open in shock. Tak's personality, after seeming to stifle laughter that it shouldn't have even been capable of, stated lamely, **"You make a lovely couple."**

"Oh, shut up!" Dib snapped. "I got enough of that crap from Dad, I don't need it from _you_!" And as Zim had only a while earlier, he completely failed to put any amount of desperately needed space between the two of them.

Zim perked up a bit, the conversation grabbing his attention. "Oh, was _that_ what the Professor meant?" he wondered, head tilted slightly to the side. Once it was confirmed by Dib, he made a face and refrained from saying anything more.

"**And now we have the baby, the mother, and the father. Who am I, then?"**

"You're the car," Zim responded flatly. "The automated car meant to get us from point A to point B without being obnoxious."

"**That's not really a typical sitcom role."** It wasn't really a role at all, in fact. It wasn't any better than Zim's following suggestion, either: the dog.

"As though our lives as a sitcom would ever be considered typical." Shaking his head, Dib leaned back in the control chair once more, staring up at the gleaming metal ceiling. "Even before now."

A slight huff escaped the Irken next to him. "Before now doesn't matter – you more or less said so yourself," Zim told him, curling up as best he could with what limited space they had, Hope snuggled up to his chest; she was starting to drift back to sleep, the last few hours a heavy toll after her earlier nap had been interrupted, and her new 'mother' was quite comfy.

Dib gave a small noise to show he'd heard, but didn't bother to say anything. Nothing really needed to be said now – at least, nothing that had to wait until the Irken was more at ease with the situation. Shifting himself to where he was slightly less cramped, and thankful that Zim had chosen to curl up in the seat rather than stretch out, Dib got as comfortable as he figured he'd get and closed his eyes.

A small grin spread on his face when he heard quiet humming from the Irken, the same tune as before – what had seemed almost like days ago."Why that song?" he asked quietly, not wanting to disturb Hope as she fell asleep.

"It's the only human lullabaloo thing Zim knows," the Irken admitted, only rolling his eyes when Dib corrected him. "Yes, lullaby. I knew that." He hummed a bit of the melody before softly intoning a line.

_'Then the traveller in the dark – thanks you for your tiny spark...'_

"You know more of it than I do," Dib chuckled lowly. "I didn't even know it had other parts to it." Slitting one eye open, he glanced at Zim. "I think I'm just going to try to get some sleep – wake me up when we get to the filling station."

"Mmhmm." Leaning forward, the Irken tapped at the control panel, dimming the lights within the cockpit.

It was a surprisingly courteous gesture. "Thanks," Dib mumbled, closing his eyes again.

"Anything to keep you quiet," Zim refrained from saying, only giving an amused smile and claiming one of the discarded pillows from earlier to prop his elbow on, making it more comfortable for him to hold the infant – his smeet. He wondered about that thought for a moment.

His smeet? Huh...that would make him a sort of mother then, wouldn't it?

He glanced from the child, then to Dib, back to the child, then out at the emptiness of space with a thoughtful hum. It didn't seem like it would be horrible, at least.

As Zim began to hum again, Hope cuddling up to him as close as she could get, the only other sounds the light breaths of the two humans and the subtle buzz of the computer, the Spittle Runner sped silently through the cosmos, passing seemingly endless star systems and whole galaxies as it hurtled towards their destination – towards their future.

_'...He could not see which way to go - If you did not twinkle so...'_

_

* * *

_IT'S DONE. NYAHAHA, I FINISHED IT.

And I bet some people thought I never would due to my past record with fanfic-writing. HA. IN YOUR FACES, WHOEVER THOUGHT I COULDN'T DO IT. TAKE THAT. (I don't even know who I'm talking to.)

...I wonder if I'll actually start on that sequel. ...Hmm. I'll think about it. (This is where Krys makes a very serious face.)

Just so you all remember, it IS going to develop into a kind of ZADR. ...If I write it. Can't say for certain just yet.

In the meantime, I will probably eventually post up some art for this fic - and have already posted the art for chapters one to three - up on my dA page (krysofdeath dot deviantart dot com) if anyone cares to look. Or, you can find it at my journal (the-krys dot insanejournal dot com).

And now that that's over, I'll see you all later!

...

Especially if I actually write the sequel! xD


	21. In which a plot continues

**PICKING UP THE PIECES**

_'I never thought that I'd end up in the far backwater reaches of the galaxy with only an orphan and my mortal enemy for company. Of course...I never thought they'd become the closest thing I've ever had to a family, either.'_

Warnings: Occasional language, sad attempts at drama (ha!), and eventually some sort of strange and very slight ZADR (which might not even qualify as actual ZADR). **EDIT:** In case I haven't mentioned it before, I will note now that Irkens are devoid of any kind of reproductive/sexual parts, and that the so-called 'ZADR' will based solely on the emotional aspects of a relationship rather than the physical.

Surprise! It's here! ..._Finally_! Not sure when any actual chapters will be uploaded, as they're not even written yet, but...hopefully it won't be too long from now. Once I've finished getting down the plot plans for the last five chapters (there will likely be thirty chapters altogether), I'll get to work on actually writing the story itself. So, for now, I hope you all will enjoy this, and remember, any feedback or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Oh, and feel free to point out any of my unintentional spelling or grammar errors. (Yes, I said unintentional. Sometimes I purposefully use odd grammar just to emphasize or make things sound cooler. Ha, I'm weird.)

* * *

**Prologue – In which a plot continues**

"That _thing_ has been watching us for a while..."

A bland murmur of acknowledgment emitted from behind an opaque curtain, beside which Dib was seated with a backpack stuffed with personal belongings slung over one shoulder, and his arms wrapped around Hope, the little toddler he and his unwilling alien ward had saved from certain fiery doom. The teen looked a bit annoyed by the lack of concern in the 'reply', but otherwise didn't say anything more, only kept a wary eye on the many-elbowed owner of what Tak's ship had referred to as a filling station. Whatever _that_ was.

And whatever the owner of the 'filling station' was, it was certainly an alien to be wary of – how did it manage to have so many elbows, yet still have only two arms?

There were, of course, other reasons to keep his guard up, Dib knew. Even though they'd escaped unscathed from Earth, escaped the Krakemeth onslaught brought on by Zim's own beloved Tallests, there were no doubt enemies lurking at every turn. If anyone recognized them before they reached their destination, it was likely they'd soon have the entirety of the Irken Empire to contend with.

None of their ragtag team was supposed to be alive, doubly so where Zim was concerned. Amidst the slaughter of the human race, he'd been the primary target – without him, his race could breathe easy, their weak link terminated and no more than a bad memory.

The Irken in question, of course, hadn't a clue, and at this point was more worried about scrubbing away the dirt, blood, and other such grime that had built up on his person over the course of their daring escape from Earth. Humming in a manner that was quite near cheerful, Zim patted a pale pink dust over his skin, thrilled at the sense of germ-free cleanliness the powder offered as it drifted lazily from slats lining the ceiling. It was about time they'd found a filling station with a shower – it had taken them two days, and five stops at other stations, to find this little bit of reprieve! He could almost forget that the Dib-human was only a few feet away from the cleansing stall, waiting for him so they could continue their flight to safety.

Hmph, _safety_. Antennae flicking back in a decidedly sulky manner, the Irken applied the powder a bit more forcefully, crimson eyes narrowing. As though it mattered in the long run. Sure, he was _safe_, but that didn't change the fact that he was a _failure_, doomed to a life of boredom on some backwater planet in the far reaches of the cosmos. Space ghettos, _really_! If he didn't know he'd have his PAK torn from his body-shell and his data forever erased if he dared return, Zim just might have marched right back to his empire!

But _no_! Instead, horror of horrors, his innate sense of self-preservation had brought him to an all-time low, allowing an inferior creature – a _human_, no less! – to take control of his very fate. Why he'd even submitted to the Dib's whims in the first place still eluded him.

Vaguely, as he scrubbed away all the filth (though in reality, there was none left), Zim wondered if – just maybe – there was something that the human wasn't telling him. He'd almost seemed _too_ adamant when he'd insisted they avoid the Massive...granted, he _had_ found out before Zim that the Tallests had already been informed of the Krakemeth invasion. So maybe Dib _was_ telling him everything he knew. But then, he _was_ a lying little weasel...

Frustrated by the roundabout thoughts, the Irken decided to simply shrug the entire thing off. Whether Dib was lying about something or not (something _important_, that is – in Zim's opinion, he was always lying about somethingor other), all that mattered was that Zim wasn't going to be going back to the Irken Empire any time soon. If he ever could at all.

Things weren't looking too good...

Zim frowned in annoyance when Dib's voice emanated from somewhere to the right of the curtain once again; why did the pig-stink have to keep reminding him of his presence? It was already demeaning enough having to sanitize himself in such a degenerate place! "Are you done yet? I'm really not liking this, that elbowy-alien clerk won't stop looking over here...I think he's onto us."

"Silence your smelly head, Dib-thing!" Zim barked sharply as he twisted the cleansing stall knobs, stifling the lazy cascade of dust. He shook himself for a moment, sending a cloud of the powder back into the air, before poking his head out from behind the curtain, looking for his companion. Once he was found, an antenna quirked insistently – a motion that, for once, Dib was completely unable to decipher.

He couldn't be faulted for it, exactly, seeing as it wasn't something he normally saw from Zim. In fact, it was something he'd never seen, for they'd never been allied long enough for him to get a chance to. Thus, he was thoroughly bewildered when Zim emitted a _very_ peeved growl and glared at him. "Uh, okay..." Dib pursed his lips and squinted uncertainly, awkwardly adjusting the straps of his backpack with one hand as the other supported Hope's light bulk. "What did I do wrong _now_?"

Antennae flicking in irritation (_that_ was something Dib was used to seeing), Zim merely shook his head, replying flatly, "What do you mean, _now_? You do _everything_ wrong." Before the teen could get in any complaints, the Irken snapped, "My _uniform_, smelly fool! Where is it?"

"Uh, you told me to burn it for being so filthy," Dib reminded him with a roll of his eyes – sometimes Zim's terrible memory was almost worrisome. The alien's eyes bugged somewhat at the reply, claws clutching at the curtain tightly, and Dib just about smacked his forehead. "_Please_ tell me that wasn't your only uniform..."

"Of course it wasn't!" Zim spat, withdrawing back into the sanitizing cubicle for a moment. There was a bit of shuffling within, and a metallic clicking which Dib assumed was a PAK compartment opening and closing, before Zim peeked back out once again, seeming disgruntled. "Give Zim your shirt."

After a while of staring at the alien in disbelief, Dib gave up with a grating sigh and dropped his backpack to the floor, leaning to shuffle through it; once he'd found some item or other that was deemed suitable, it was promptly flung in Zim's face. "You're really lucky that I had the foresight to bring extra clothes," the teen told him sourly, only to get a grumpy scowl from the Irken before the curtain fell back into place once more.

There was a bit of grumbling amidst the rustling of cloth, before Zim spoke up loud enough for the human to hear. "Well, _Zim_ didn't get a chance to do that, so don't be so quick to assume your head isn't filled with a lump of useless!" _That _was a new one... Dib made a face, but didn't comment on it – a wise decision, as his alien ward wasn't done talking and was likely in the mood to eviscerate anyone who dared interrupt him. "I had a spare uniform in my PAK, but...ehn...I think GIR ate most of it. At least he left the pants, though. He never liked eating those."

"That's nice, Zim," Dib responded automatically (seeing as he didn't really care), slinging his backpack over his shoulder once more and propping Hope up on one leg once he'd reclaimed his seat, wary eyes locked on the overly-elbowed clerk yet again. Such elbows should not _be_. Struggling a bit with Hope, as she had decided that squirming might be fun, and that whining when he didn't cave into her wants to be put down would be even more so, Dib gave another grating sigh and hissed, "Hurry up, will you?"

Hope's whines vanished to be replaced with a gleeful noise when the curtain was swept aside and her Irken 'mother' rejoined them, but Dib was not quite so enthusiastic, and only made a strange face. Catching the look (it wasn't hard to miss), Zim mimicked the frown on his borrowed shirt, tugging at its bottom hem a bit and asking flatly, "Am I just that amazing, or has your tiny brain ceased function again?"

Again, huh? Rolling his eyes, Dib handed the toddler up to the Irken when she reached for him insistently, observing in a mild tone, "It's gigantic on you."

"That's because you're fat," Zim replied in an equally mild way before he scooped Hope up, in a manner that suggested he thought he was rescuing her from something distasteful. Which was most likely the case, especially when his expression soured and he prompted, "Do you require _bathrooming_ again?"

The teenager frowned, and only shook his head. "I'm fine for the moment. Thanks for the, uh…consideration." If you could call it that. "We should really get out of here." That said, Dib made his way towards the exit, the strap of his backpack clenched nervously tight in a hand as he moved past the overly-elbowed clerk.

Zim, however, had other ideas. "But we've been running out of snacks!" the Irken protested, not budging from his spot, even when his companion stomped back over to him and actually had the audacity to _drag_ him. Inch by inch he was pulled away from his spot, true, but he refused to make it easy. Upon realizing that Dib had already dragged him past the register, and the now confused-looking clerk, Zim took to shrieking indignantly, "Your bagels are unsatisfactory, and smelly! I hate them! You said they were like _donuts_, but it was all a lie! A horrible, _horrible_ lie!"

"You ate them anyway!" Dib snapped in retort.

"I most certainly did _not_! I couldn't stand to have such _revolting _food-things in the cockpit, so I threw them out the airlock!" Zim shot back angrily, yanking his arm away and storming off to the nearest aisle, Hope squirming in discomfort in his too-tight grip. "I am getting some _Irken_ snacks, and _you_ can't have any! _Bagel-lover_!"

Throwing his free hand in the air in frustration, Dib yelled after him, "_Fine_! If you want to waste more time, _go ahead_! See if I care!" He then slumped against the portion of counter nearest the door, suddenly not even caring that the clerk was glancing back and forth between them intently. He did care enough to notice, however, when the bizarre alien inched over bit by bit until they were next to each other, and he couldn't help but mutter rudely, "What do _you_ want?"

One of the creature's four eyes blinked, as though it were unsure of the teen's defensive words, before it spoke in a nasally drawl from some hidden mouth, "Uh, he, um…he _is_ going to pay, right? Uh…with monies?"

It wasn't what Dib was expecting, so he only directed a strange look at the alien at first, before answering, "Well, he'd better." He paused to consider something, then asked hesitantly, "Is that why you were watching us?"

"Well, yes… Irkens have a bad habit of just taking what they want, you see," it offered in a somewhat sour manner, three eyes narrowing in Zim's direction as various snacks were sifted through and decided on, the last eye remaining on Dib. "I, um…honestly thought you were a slave at first. I mean, what with that funny little collar and all."

"It's an atmospheric regulator!" Dib exclaimed helplessly, tugging lightly at the metal ring at his throat and suddenly feeling _very _uncomfortable, especially so when he thought he heard a quiet snicker from the Irken currently rummaging through merchandise.

The clerk only gave a little shrug. "Okay, if you say so. I'm not too familiar with the model, but…yeah, I work way out here in the space ghettos. What do I know?"

There was that weird phrase again, Dib noticed. Space ghettos…it just didn't make any sense to him, but then, he _was_ dealing with aliens now. He half-wondered how the clerk was even able to hold a conversation with him, but quickly remembered Zxhermnskilek; the Krakemeth had mentioned having a translator. Huh. Now that he thought about it, it was possible that even _Zim_ was using a translator, and likely wouldn't be able to understand him without it. Unless, after all that time on Earth, he'd started to pick up on English naturally.

Highly doubtful, Dib thought with a somewhat amused grin, about to speak to the odd alien again when Zim marched up to them, Hope (looking rather grumpy) tucked under one arm and several snacks (looking rather tasty) balanced precariously in the other. "Search complete! Let us resume our journey!" the Irken proclaimed, already heading toward the door with his prized treats (and pet) in tow.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Dib asked him flatly, nodding to the clerk.

Antennae perking, Zim stopped and stared up at him with a blank expression, then directed the look at the alien next to him, who now seemed quite disgruntled. "Oh. Yes. …Of course." The Irken frowned a bit, the blank expression being replaced by a look that was almost somewhat of a sulk at having been caught – he'd fully intended to walk out without paying.

When the Irken only shifted from one foot to the other and back again, still frowning and antennae flattening into a defensive posture, Dib spoke up again, all the while hoping that having to avert such behavior wouldn't become a regular thing. Getting the Irken to share the space needed for supplies back on Earth had already been a miniature nightmare in and of itself. "And what are you forgetting?"

Scowling at him, Zim back-tracked to the register, dumping the food-stuffs on the counter and adjusting Hope to a more comfortable position. She gave an annoyed sound, seeming to suggest it was about _time_ he stopped carrying her like a ragdoll, but calmed quickly to curl her arms around his neck, babbling something to herself as the Irken patted her on the back and pointedly avoided looking at the teen. "Payment for wares," Zim grumbled finally, noting offhand that glaring at Dib's reflection on the counter wasn't quite as satisfying as glaring at Dib himself.

Something like gratitude passed in the other alien's expression as it glanced to the human, before it quickly scanned and bagged the snacks with ease that was surprising, considering its many ungainly elbows. That done, it stated simply, "Fifty monies, please."

Muttering irritably, Zim moved an arm under Hope's bottom to keep her propped up as he dug in a hidden pocket with his other hand. This was ridiculous! He was _Irken_, it was his _right_ to take what he wanted from inferior beings! He could feel Dib's eyes on him, though, _knew_ that the teen was itching to yell at him, and decided it wasn't worth the trouble. Sure, it was annoying that he was having to spend monies, but having Dib yell at him would be even _more _annoying.

Growling when his hand only came across two large coins (he'd found them in GIR's head a few years back, oddly enough), the Irken shook his head, pulling hand from pocket and saying dully, "It'll have to be a PAK cred charge – I've only got twenty monies on me." The clerk nodded and tapped a button, a small device sliding forward; Dib only had to wonder about it for a second before the top compartment of Zim's PAK clicked open, a cable shooting from it to latch onto the smaller device. One quick beep later, and the cable retracted, PAK closing and Zim snatching the bags with his free hand before storming off to their waiting ship.

"Have a nice day!" the clerk called after him cheerily, waving to them as Dib jogged to catch up with his companion.

Ignoring Zim's low and rather nonsensical grumble of 'I'll show _you_ a nice day,' as well as what were clearly curses in various alien languages, the teen managed a little smile. "See? Was that so hard?" he asked after the automatic doors had slid shut behind them and the covershield of Tak's ship opened for them.

Nearly throwing the bags into the cockpit, Zim only glared at him, climbing into the ship and roughly jabbing a couple of buttons with one claw. Before Dib could get in another word, or even get into the ship himself, the covershield snapped shut and the vessel hummed to life. Immediately, the teen's eyes bugged in shock and his backpack dropped to the ground, before he lunged to latch onto the first part of the ship he could – which probably wasn't the best idea.

The roar of engines seemed to surround him, a high-pitched ringing already beginning to echo in his ears from the terrible noise, before silence closed in around him without warning. Suddenly unable to properly draw breath and every muscle in his body straining, Dib couldn't even bring himself to open his eyes, for fear of what he'd see.

"Oof!" He found himself sprawled halfway across the ship's controls moments later, nose likely bruised and his glasses askew. Adjusting them, he dared a glance at his surroundings, and was surprised to note that despite the fact that he _was_ hanging halfway out of the alien craft, the metal of the filling station's ground was still just below him.

They hadn't lifted off at all.

A baffled look crossed Dib's face as he pushed himself up to look up at Zim, whose expression was quite sour indeed. It didn't take long to figure out why; seated in the Irken's lap with feet kicking and her tiny hands outstretched, little Hope was positively _bawling_ as she reached insistently for Dib. Struggling for a moment, feeling shaky, to pull himself into the cockpit, the teen collapsed into the pilot's seat next to Zim, desperately trying to calm down and only just noticing Hope's slight weight as she crawled onto his leg, still hiccuping even as her fit of crying abated.

The ship's interior went mostly silent, until Zim muttered quietly, grudgingly, "We need fuel."

For a while, Dib couldn't say anything, only rubbing Hope's back comfortingly as she snuggled her face against his chest and sniffed. "…Is that the only other reason you didn't leave me behind?" he asked then, managing a bit of ire past the sudden exhaustion he was feeling; he'd already been feeling strangely tired, grumpy after two days of Zim in a cramped space, and all this just made it that much worse.

The Irken was similarly quiet as he took his time answering, gaze anywhere but on Dib. Even when he did answer, the teen had to strain to hear it. "I was going to come back," Zim mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and seeming to find his toes quite interesting; he wished GIR had at least left him his boots… Finally glancing up to his companion, he added, "It was only meant to scare you, Dib-smell."

"That doesn't excuse you," Dib grumbled, slouching down in the seat. "Jerk. You scared Hope, too." This had the alien shifting uncomfortably, eyes focusing on the tiny girl as antennae flattened and lulled to one side; another motion that Dib couldn't properly identify. He figured Zim felt appropriately bad, though, as the Irken was almost hesitant about plucking her from the other boy's lap, and in fact even allowed her to stay there (albeit huffily) when the action only pulled a high-pitched whine from her.

Clearly, she wanted to be absolutely certain that Dib wasn't about to get left behind, and clearly, staying on his lap was a surefire way to go about it.

Grumbling to himself in his native tongue, Zim shook his head a bit and turned away to press a seemingly random sequence of buttons, pulling himself from the cockpit once the small task was completed (and grimacing when his bare feet hit the metal flooring; cold _and _filthy). He glanced back at Dib only briefly, antennae still locked in that unreadable position, before he simply scoffed and stalked towards the filling station doors once more.

Entirely clueless as to what Zim was up to, Dib gave a shrug and slouched down against the command chair, unconsciously taking each toy that Hope offered up to him, her tears long gone to be replaced with a goofy smile. Though his thoughts were elsewhere, centered mostly on what they were going to do now that the ship was out of fuel, he supplied a tired smile of his own, getting a cheery babble from her as she tugged on one of the toys in his grasp. "Your new mom's crazy..." Dib heard himself mumble, barely registering Hope's responding blank look.

**"So is her new father. He talks to himself,"** the computer piped up, though it quieted quickly when Dib kicked the console, having tired of snarky comments.

Unfortunately for him and his current dislike of snarky comments, Zim took this moment to reappear, some unknown object tucked under one arm and the strange (almost guilty?) expression gone from his face. Now, he just looked grumpy and bored, which was a _very _bad combination, especially when one added on the factor of Zim having to coexist with Dib in a tiny space, and even more so when one tacked on the fact that Dib was already tired and feeling rather grumpy himself.

He only realized that Zim had returned when his dropped backpack was tossed at him, only barely missing to land with a heavy thump against the pilot seat; had it actually hit him, it probably would have hurt a _lot_. Ignoring this for the most part (or at least trying to), Dib leaned to keep his so-called ally mostly in sight as the Irken crouched down in front of the ship to mess with something. After a while of listening to Zim's grumbling complaints and the grating of some unknown mechanism, he spoke up hesitantly. "So, um...what are we going to do about fuel?"

He quickly realized that that was probably the wrong thing to ask at this particular time.

Zim peeked up over the edge of the console, one eye squinted nearly shut before he gave an imperious-sounding half-chuckle; it was the kind of sound that Dib _really_ didn't like hearing from him. "We're at a _filling station_, Dib-monkey," the Irken told him, equally imperious (and equally obnoxious), but with an added lazy flick of an antenna that – once again – Dib couldn't understand the meaning of.

This, of course, only made it that much more annoying.

"Yeah, so I've heard," Dib snapped irritably. "What's _that_ got to do with anything?"

Then came the imperious smirk to match everything else that Zim had done imperiously so far, including lifting up the foreign whatchamacallit – the imperiousness with which he lifted it was second only to the imperiousness of his following words. "Obviously, as it is a filling station and not some other place, it has _everything_ to do with this fuel cell Zim has just acquired. I mean, why _else_ would it be called a 'filling station' if it does not exist to 'fill up' a ship's fuel supply?"

The teen made a face, tried to say something, failed, then looked around pathetically, as though looking for someone who could help him find the proper words. Sadly, there was only Hope, and at this point she appeared more interested in finding out if she could fit a whole jingle-toy into her mouth (answer: no). Eventually, Dib gave up looking, and when Zim had finished swapping out the old fuel cell for the new and plopped down into the pilot seat next to him, starting up the ship's engine and preparing them for take-off, the teen only asked flatly, "So what you're telling me is that this place is just some kind of advanced gas station?"

"Yyyyyyyep."

The vessel lurched a bit, humming in a way it hadn't before which apparently (at least, according to a relatively ignored panel off to the left) had something to do with the engine getting used to a new fuel cell after years and years of the same one, but other than that the lift-off went quite smoothly. The only difference between this lift-off and the last few was that Zim and Dib weren't currently arguing, as Zim was set on cramming one of his brand-new snacks into his mouth, and Dib was too busy trying to find the appropriate words to describe his new understanding of what a 'filling station' actually was.

Eventually, once the ship had stopped humming and Zim figured out exactly why the G-force compensators had decided to malfunction, leaving everything in the cockpit to float about aimlessly until it was fixed, Dib found just the words he was looking for.

"...That's just stupid."

"Yyyyyyyep."

Of course, it should be noted that, by this time, Zim had no idea what Dib was talking about.

He figured it had something to do with the bagels.

* * *

Thousands upon thousands of light-years away, bored and slouched in front of a large panel, on which millions upon millions of little symbols scrolled, an Irken Elite-in-training suddenly found himself finding a group of symbols that weren't supposed to belong on that particular panel.

And at first, he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

This, after all, wasn't even part of his actual training, just a mindless exercise – find this number, find that number, and maybe if you're feeling particularly lucky, you can look for this number, too. You'll never find it, but go ahead! Look for it anyway!

Instead, he'd found a number he knew very well – there wasn't a person existing in the Empire who _couldn't_ recognize it – and he knew equally well that it wasn't supposed to be there.

Helplessly, gold eyes searched the room for a superior; a deeply ingrained Irken trait that even the youngest of smeets adhered to. It was always the first thing one would do if they found themselves in a situation they were unfamiliar with. It helped to avoid unfamiliar situations later in life, as, in the words of a great past Tallest, 'Unfamiliar situations can often lead to stupid decisions, which will generally lead to stupid results.'

When the quick search turned up nothing, Elite-in-training Vol immediately got to his feet and jogged out into the main commons, catching the attention of, as luck would have it, one of the Tallests' own personal advisors. The tall, green-eyed female was only there for a brief visit, checking up on the status of the trainees (that is, ensuring they were actually following the training schedules and not goofing off, as well as deciding the percentage of persons who needed to be shipped off into the nearest sun and _fast_), but if there was anyone who would know what to do in this situation, it was her.

She swept to his side wordlessly, somehow already knowing something was dreadfully wrong, and when he led her to the panel, scrolled through all the millions upon millions of little numbers to find that one short sequence once more, still she said nothing. Her thin lips pursed, curled antennae slicked back and trembling somewhat, but she said not a word. Eventually, it became too much for the trainee to bear.

"W...what do you make of it, Advisor Seln?" he questioned nervously.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she seemed to take the next few moments to process the question. Then, she gave an airy exhale and turned to leave; Vol only barely caught her quiet words. "The Tallests must be informed."

As the door slid shut behind her, he found himself desperately hoping – actually _hoping_, such a wasteful thing for a would-be Elite! – that it had been nothing more than a brief glitch in the system.

Surely, he hoped in the very way he knew he shouldn't, things like this just happened sometimes.

And even more surely, he continued to hope in a way he hoped wouldn't happen again because he _really_ wanted to become an Elite soldier and couldn't afford that sort of thing, the programmers didn't at all mean it when they said their system was perfect.

* * *

Hopefully, despite the possible obviousness of this thing, I'll be able to surprise you (two or three) readers with what I have planned. Mmhmm.

Anyway, for those wondering, yes, Vol and Seln are incidental characters, and will have little importance to the plot. If my writing gets as far as I plan, though, they will be a part of their own little story with a couple other OCs of mine. Not that anyone will care, because the only thing that matters in this fandom is Zim and Dib. Preferably making out.

If making out is what you're hoping for, by the way, you might want to read some other ZADR, because you'll be seriously disappointed with this one. ;)


End file.
